


Perfect Rafa on an Imperfect Life

by Mira_Mirai



Series: Perfect [2]
Category: Tennis RPF
Genre: First Relationship, First Time, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Happy, Happy Ending, Light Angst, Love, M/M, Post Wimbledon 2007, Romance, Timeline: 2007
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-13
Updated: 2019-05-01
Packaged: 2019-05-21 22:32:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 24,645
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14924120
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mira_Mirai/pseuds/Mira_Mirai
Summary: After that encounter with Rafa in the balcony, Roger’s life turns upside down.Second part to Perfect Roger on an Imperfect Night.Or: Roger wakes up with a new list of goals to accomplish if he wants to get the ultimate dream: Rafa Nadal.





	1. I dream you no have girlfriend...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, 'Perfect Roger' should have been a cute (but slightly angsty) one-shot but you guys are amazing and you asked for more and well... then I had to think what would happen the next morning after that night... and, well, here we are. We have a series now. I hope it won't be a long one! 
> 
> I have decided to set the story right after Wimbledon 2007, I'll try to be canon compliant but... then I may ignore it if it suits the story. ;) 
> 
> Again, not a native English speaker, so I appreciate corrections and such. 
> 
> By the way, Rafa just won his 17th Grand Slam, ya'll. Weeeee!!!

 

Roger fell asleep the moment his head touched the pillow, Mirka was already deep asleep in the other side of the huge bed. Maybe it was the exhaustion of the final or of the pressers and photoshoots or of the party. Maybe it was the sheer intensity of Rafa’s words, whatever it was, it had drained him completely. Leaving him with only one thought: Rafa.

 

He slept long and dreamlessly.

 

He woke up with the sun, already high in the sky, getting through the suite’s velvety curtains. The sunlight was hot against his closed eyelids and it almost burned him, burned him with clarity. A clarity that reminded him that, last night, alone on a balcony he had vowed to make all of Rafael Nadal’s dreams come true. And he was those dreams.

 

And now, faced with a new day, a blank slate, all he could think was: I have to get started.

 

He’d never really given much thought to why Rafa Nadal was so special to him, he simply was. At first, he guessed, it was the shock. The shock from losing a match to a teenager. A match he was so sure we’d win he didn’t even bother to ask who the Spaniard he was playing was. He did bother after, of course. And maybe that was the beginning of his fascination, seeing how that the tanned and unstopable bull on the court was, actually, a scared and lovable kitten outside of it.

 

Soon that fascination had turned into regard and then into affection which ended up becoming an insanely intense feeling that was half closeness half longing and the central piece of his tennis life. And, therefore, central to everything, really. And yet, he hadn’t realized what that meant.

 

It had happened slowly too. So slowly, he almost didn’t notice. But what at the beginning was Roger suddenly spotting Rafa in the room, became Roger looking around hoping to find him until it evolved into that sixth special sense that made his skin crawl every time Rafa was close by. His own superpower.

 

It was obvious looking back on it now, what Rafa was to him. And yet, Roger wondered how could he had been so blind to only understand when the clumsy accented words left those beautiful lips.

 

But that didn’t matter. He couldn’t change the past. He could only move forward. He had to do what he always did when faced with a new challenge: analyse, evaluate, adjust and act.

 

Rafa loved Roger and Roger, turned out, loved Rafa as well.

 

Rafa had an extensive list of dreams. Some of them were small and trivial, some were big and titanic, some he’d need a long time to realize, some he could get done today. That didn’t mean they would be easy, quite the opposite, but remembering the fleeting kiss his lips could barely feel anymore, he made up his mind. He wanted that sweet tingling to be dancing in his mouth forever.

 

Roger took a long breath and finally left the bed. He walked to the long windows with the heavy velvet curtains and he let the sun bathe his face. He let the heat fill his body while his mind recited those dreams, it did so with Rafa’s voice.

 

_“I dream you look at me more… Different. I dream you no have girlfriend...”_

 

He smiled and went to have a shower. He needed to be clear-headed for this. The water was cold, but he didn’t care. He felt strange. He knew what he was going to do, and he felt nervous, but also, sure. He felt bad too. But not as bad as he had imagined other times when he hypothetically wondered what would happen if his relationship with Mirka ended.

 

When he was dressed he went into the living room of the suite. Mirka was sitting at the table, lazily having breakfast while reading a newspaper.

 

“Mirka, we need to talk” he said without thinking.  

 

“How ominous” she replied keeping her eyes on the jam she was spreading on a bagel. “If you’re trying to get out Anna’s visit, forget it. It’s happening. And that’s that.”

 

“It’s not that.” His tone was probably too harsh because she raised an elegant eyebrow. He looked to the floor. “I… I don’t even know how to say it. It’s going to sound insane no matter what…”

 

“Then, why bother?” She laughed, “Just say it, Roger.”

 

He counted to ten.

 

“I just realized… I’m in love.” Her eyelids lowered in the slowest blink Roger had ever seen. He held his breath.

 

“I’m assuming you’re not talking about me.” He swallowed. “Right”, she nodded.

 

“Is it Rafa?”

 

Roger’s jaw hit the floor. “How… how…” He took a big puff of air. “How?”

 

Mirka simply tossed her long hair to the side, bagel forgotten on the plate. “Well, he’s loved you for ages. I figured sooner or later you would catch on.”

 

Every coherent thought left Roger’s brain. He had tried to plan this conversation, he had tried to anticipate Mirka’s reaction. He had tried to analyse, evaluate, adjust and act. He had failed. Completely. But if there was someone in this world who could get the upper hand on him, it was Mirka.

 

“I’m a bit surprised though” she added after a few seconds. “I wasn’t completely sure what you would do when you realized… I was betting on you coming to me, freaked out, asking what to do and how you could  let him down gently”.

 

His strategy was out of the window, so he decided to play it by instinct like he did when facing Rafa on clay. “Mirka…”

 

She was looking at the wall like it held a clue she was missing. “I guess I underestimated his feelings. I used to think he was just crushing on you. Much like so many young ones when they enter the tour. After all, you are Number One. But… they usually grow out of it but Rafa didn’t.”

 

“How could you know?” Mirka smiled. “Oh. I always know before you.”

 

Roger was truly and completely lost.

 

She rolled her eyes, like it was an obvious thing. “Because, you see, they always panic around me. They hope to act normal so that I won’t see they are lusting after what’s mine and, in doing so, they make themselves even more obvious.”

 

Roger couldn’t help but ask, “And Rafa…?”

 

“Rafa…” Mirka let a long sight out after the second syllable. “Rafa is never nervous around me. And he is always kind and almost… reverent. Rafa looks at me like I’m something great and amazing. With admiration. I didn’t get it at first because he was so obviously in love with you, even from that first match in Miami.” She took a sip of her cup of tea and the few seconds that took were a torture for Roger.

 

Finally, she continued “So, I couldn’t understand why he would look at me like I was fabulous, beautiful and I deserved all the respect in the world. But one day, I got it.” She looked at Roger then, looked at him in a way he had never seen before. She was sad and happy and proud and disappointed at the same time.

 

“Rafa looks at me like that because he thinks I’m worthy of you. I’m a worthy of your love… where he is not”.

 

Roger felt a knife cut through his chest and rip it wide open. Because as insane as the notion of Rafa being unworthy of anything was, he could completely see how Rafa would see it that way. Because that was how he saw everything.

 

All the guys in the Top 10 played the humble card for the press, granted, some better than others. Roger was good at it. But every now and then, even he slipped. And he let his pride talk for him. And he would say that he was incredibly talented and even though it was objectively true, it was bad form to do it. So, he tried not to. Rafa was not like that. He would only talk about how he had played, how great his opponent had been, how difficult his next match would be, how he didn’t think he had any victories assured. And some people believed it, most people didn’t. He had heard it enough times from other players: “Nadal likes to play humble, like he doesn’t know he’s a beast and has it in the bag. It’s annoying.” Roger never spoke up on those occasions but in his head, he would yell at the top of his lungs: “He doesn’t believe he has it in the bag! He doesn’t think he’s something special! He should, because he is, but he doesn’t. That is why he’s one of the greatest at 21 and you will never be, you sore loser!”.

 

Mirka was still looking at him. And Roger realized he’d been quiet a long while. “I see” he forced himself to say.

 

She nodded “That makes it impossible for me to hate him. He’s too freaking nice. And sometimes I wish I could hate him. Like I hate those stupid vultures who looked at me with disdain and who tried to take a piece of you to my face. But not Rafa. The one person who could do it never tried”.

 

She put on a sad smile. Very beautiful but very sad. It was a bit like the one that Rafa had had last night. “And I bet, even now, that whatever has happened that has made you realize all of this, has not included him throwing himself at you.” Roger smiled. “No.”

 

She shook her head. “Of course not. Too freaking nice for that. He’d rather be miserable his whole life than actively force you to betray me even if the prize to win is what he always wanted.”

 

“I guess so.”

 

“He is something else, Roger.” He nodded. “He is a much better person than you, I hope you know that.” Roger smiled again. “I know. That’s why he needs me. He needs an asshole to do asshole things to get him what he deserves.”

 

Mirka put her feet on the table, very unladylike and out of character, “Maybe”.

 

Roger sat next to her, lifted his hand until he touched hers. “I’m so sorry though. I’m a selfish prick. I really am. But you’re one of the most important people in my life.”

 

“I know that. I also know that, for the most part, our relationship has worked because, among other things, it was convenient for both of us. But I truly fucking love you, asshole. And after seven years you’re leaving me to go live a gay fantasy!” Her tone was sarcastic, and it made Roger laugh a bittersweet laugh.

 

Mirka was putting on an armour in front of his eyes. She always had one on when she was in public. It looked like a shiny dress, a tiny smile and eyes covered by fancy sunglasses. She had never put one on to be with Roger, but he understood why she would need to do it now. This armour she was building was half humour half nonchalance and would protect her feelings and her pride. Because Mirka Vavrinec was one proud woman. Roger loved that about her.

 

She smirked at him “Do you even know if you can?” Roger frowned. “Can what?”

 

She winked at him. “Do you know if you can fuck a guy, even one as pretty as Rafa?”

 

Roger had plenty of armours himself, but he would never use one with Mirka, tempting as it was at that moment. “It goes beyond that… for me. So, honestly, I don’t need to know if I can.”

 

She made a noise with her tongue, dismissingly. “Damn, you’re hot when you’re serious. Maybe that’s what got to Rafa.”

 

Roger didn’t change his expression. “What can I do for you, Mirka? What do you need?”

 

She looked at the ceiling while tapping her manicured finger to her glossy lips. “I’ll skip the rest of the season. You’re going to give me a bunch of money and I’ll spend six months travelling around and visiting the places I go to, for once. I’ll eat amazing food, get all the spa treatments available and I’ll fuck a bunch of guys and maybe a couple of girls. We’ll regroup after Christmas and prepare for next season. Of course, by then, I expect you to already have made the proper announcements to the press indicating that I will still be your manager but that our personal relationship has ended. How does that sound?”

 

Roger whistled. “That is insanely specific and well-thought out. You’re brilliant, Mirka, but even you couldn’t have come up with that on the fly.”

 

She smiled calmly, “True. I’ve been preparing for a while. I had a feeling it would happen, sooner or later.”

 

“How?” She rolled her eyes.

 

“Do you think that if I notice when people are interested in you, I won’t notice when you’re interested in someone?” Roger’s eyebrows rose so high they almost disappeared from his face.

 

“Have you ever seen pictures of the two of you together?” He shrugged.  “Jesus, Roger, the ones after this final, when you hugged at the net... Honestly, I really thought you were going to kiss him!”

 

Roger was speechless.

 

“Sometimes you’re so self-centred that you’re blind.” she said, “Poor Rafa. A blind asshole. That’s what he’ll get.”

 

Roger stood up then and walked to the huge windows facing London for the second time that morning. It was easier to face the city than Mirka… and himself. “He was always special. From the first match. I thought maybe it was because I lost, or maybe because he was so good. But, I think I’m always looking for him, doesn’t matter if he’s there or not. I feel so stupid, because it seems so clear now. How could I miss all this is beyond me.”

 

“It’s the tennis” said Mirka. “It consumes you. It has always consumed all of you. That’s why you didn’t see. He is turning into your biggest constant in tennis so it’s not surprising you confuse the two things. But… I wonder…”

 

She didn’t add anything for a whole minute. “What do you wonder?” Roger ended up surrendering.

 

“I wonder if you can love him outside of tennis?”

 

Roger took a deep breath “I want to try.”

 

“More than trying to love me inside of tennis?” she whispered.

 

Roger turned to look at her. He had to. Because he had to show her with his face, not only his voice.

 

“More than anything.”

 

Mirka swallowed and brought her teacup back to her lips even though it was empty by now. “Okay. We are leaving in two hours for the airport. You better start packing. I’ll deal with Anna. But, you call the realtor. I’m keeping the Zurich apartment.”

 

“I will.”

 

He walked slowly back to the bedroom to retrieve his suitcases from the closet. He closed his eyes and saw Rafa in his mind and heard him… again.

 

_“I dream you no have girlfriend...”_

 

“I don’t, Rafa. Not anymore.”

 

Rafa had lots of impossible dreams. So, Roger had lots of impossible goals. After today though, they each had one less.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, one dream (or goal, depending of how you look at it) done, a few more to go. Rafa will definitely be in the next chapter, but I felt this one had better be only Roge and Mirka. It also feels a bit weird, sorry about that. Gosh... maybe I should have left it as a one-shot. I'm not sure about this and how it's turning out, so comments and opinions are very welcome. 
> 
>  
> 
> Thanks a lot! 
> 
> And Fedal forever!


	2. I dream you like guys from Mallorca...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Second dream/goal. 
> 
> Roger doesn't have a girlfriend anymore, so, what now?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay. This is still a bit of an experiment. I'm learning a lot as I go. Hopefully you like where the story is going.

 

Mirka had given him six months to sort things out. Roger did it in two weeks.

 

When he flew back to Switzerland he went straight to his parents’ house to have the most awkward conversation since that time at fourteen when his dad had caught him watching porn with his hand down his underwear.

 

As he had done with Mirka, he jumped right to it. He took a deep breath, looked at those two pairs of eyes so similar to his own and said: “I’m in love with Rafa Nadal”. The room fell into a deep silence, that kind of silence that raises from inside. Until finally, his lovely mother spoke: “Well, at least we know that boy is mad about you.”

 

Roger had to wait for his brain to start working again. “What?”

 

Her mother leaned her head to the side. “I mean… It’s obvious he likes you very much, so you can expect your feelings to be returned. And that’s a good thing.”

 

Roger was confused. Too confused in fact. It was one thing for Mirka to know about Rafa. But his mother? How could she know? And, also, how was it possible that avoiding rejection was more important to her than discovering her twenty-five-old son was, all of a sudden, attracted to another man? Roger couldn’t wrap his head around that. “You aren’t angry?”

 

“Angry?” his mother asked looking at his father “Why would we be angry?”

 

His father shrugged “I don’t understand it myself,” he said. “I never wanted to smooch another man, but that doesn’t mean I would be angry. What a stupid attitude to have in life, to be angry at what is not understood”.

 

And, suddenly, just like when the sun disappears behind a cloud or a strong breeze comes from the north, Roger started to cry. He cried ugly tears with loud and strained sobs. He cried like he hadn’t cried in a long time. He cried like he did when he was twelve and lost the National Championship because of double faulting.

 

His mother held him then. She held him like he was a scared child and not a grown man. And with every tear, Roger felt a pound lift off his shoulders. Because he was loved. And one is never too old for that. 

 

***

 

Telling Mirka and his parents, made telling the world so much easier. Especially because he paid a lot of money to his agent, so he was the one who had deal with it. He put out a press release one week before the Rogers Cup explaining that he and Mirka were over but that they remained friends and supportive of each other. And that Mirka would still be his manager.

 

The world responded like he had just announced he was moving to Mars. It wasn’t surprising. Mirka had been a permanent fixture in his professional career. She had been next to him for the rise and had sat on the throne beside him ever since he reached Number One. Tabloids jumped to the story like moths to the light. Thousands of words were written. Every single woman he had ever been photographed with became an alleged homewrecker. Every male member of this team became the asshole who had stolen the love of his life. They blamed stress, difference of opinions, the lack of an engagement ring, Mirka’s retirement, their non-existing children, the Swiss Federation and the ATP for their break-up. No one brought up Rafa Nadal. Roger was glad for it. He didn’t want that kind of pressure and scrutiny on Rafa but, at the same time, he was sad. He was sad because the media would rather blame it on a six-year-old picture with a model on a promotional event than on his evident closeness with his biggest rival. He thought that Rafa was onto something when he said he dreamed that it was okay to love another tennis player.

 

But Roger, had put those thoughts aside. That bridge would come, and he, and hopefully Rafa, would cross it when it was time. For now, he was getting ready for his next goal.

 

_“I dream you like guys from Mallorca...”_

 

Roger had expected for doubts to cloud his mind once he had put some distance between him and Rafa. He assumed the days and miles separating them would make him think it through, maybe even change his mind. He thought once the heat of the moment dissipated he may feel different. But he didn’t. Quite the opposite, actually.

 

He spent every free second going through his archive of memories of Rafa. He needed to relive them, he needed to see what he had missed before.

 

Like in their first match, when Rafa was still seventeen and he had looked at him with stars in his eyes after his victory. Roger should have been angry, should have thought the kid was gloating, but no, he smiled back and thought: “I hope I get to play you again soon.”

 

And that he did. He played Rafael Nadal, who quickly became, simply, Rafa.

 

“Rafael too serious, no?” The boy smiled at him one day in the locker room. “Only Toni when angry say. People…” he bit his lip looking at the floor “Friends say Rafa only.”

 

Roger had loved the red splotches that had covered the Spaniard's cheeks at that moment. “Rafa” he tried, making an effort to really roll the r. And the boy smiled, like the sun, and Roger thought: “I hope I get to see this smile more.”

 

And he did. And after their first shared season turned into their second, Roger realized something. Rafa did smile a lot, but he only sun-smiled for him. And that felt incredibly good. Not as good as winning a Major but definitely as good as making the finals on an ATP 500.

 

Then came the touching. Roger was a touchy guy. Everyone on tour knew that. Some players found it annoying, others considered it an honour. For Roger it didn’t mean much. It was a way of expressing that he was comfortable. It was like his joking around right before a match. The tennis court was his arena and he was Maximus, the most beloved gladiator and he owned the spaces between those white lines on the ground. So, he hugged and patted the backs of rivals at the net. He smiled at them, he said “I’m sorry” very often and “Congratulations. Well played” from time to time. But that was not how he touched Rafa.

 

He had intended to touch him like the rest, but then, when it happened, he felt his hand glue itself onto that sweaty back, his forehead lean towards those curls, his chest wanting to feel Rafa’s. And, God, it was glorious. He’d been asked many times if it bothered him because Rafa was always sweaty and often covered in red clay. Roger would always give a cheeky non-committal answer while holding his true words deep in his stomach. He loved it. He loved his salty sweat that was like solid wood covered in seawater. He loved the strength of Rafa’s body on his. Most of all, he loved the heat Rafa exuded. He loved how good that heat felt on his own skin.

 

Rafa was the sun. Rafa was the sun Roger orbited around. He had been so blind.

 

He had even dug out their pictures together, as many as he could find. Lots of them he had seen before, most of them he remembered when they were taken and yet it was like seeing them for the first time. He could see now what Mirka and his mother and God knows how many people had seen: two people looking at each other with adoration in their eyes and secret love in their smiles.

 

Those pictures really had made him wish for a time machine. So he could go back to every moment, be there, feel Rafa at the net again and then, instead of pulling apart begrudgingly, close the distance between them until there wasn’t any.

 

Roger had lots of things and could get even more. But not a time machine. So, he had had to settle for a date. A tournament. An opportunity. A reunion.

 

The time couldn’t pass fast enough.

 

***

 

The moment had taken almost forever to come. But it had come. And Roger felt every cell in his body scream like it did when he was fighting on a tiebreak. He loved it and hated it at the same time.

 

The locker room was deserted when he entered. He expected as much, having seen Toni and the rest of Rafa’s team enter the club’s restaurant. Rafa was sitting on the bench, freshly showered and clothed. His hair was still wet and small droplets kept sliding from his neck to disappear inside his blue t-shirt. Roger wished he could follow them with his fingers or with his tongue.

 

Rafa hadn’t noticed him, he kept playing with his phone, pressing keys. He had a concentrated look on his face and was biting his lower lip. Oh, how beautiful he was.

Roger took two determined steps forward until he was a meter away from his man. He counted to three.

 

“Rafa! How are you?” he said jovially.

 

Rafa was startled and when he saw it was him he jumped to his feet like the bench was lava.

 

“Roger” he said with a huge smile that disappeared after just half a second. “Good, good, Roger, good. You good? Everything good? Family good? Switzerland good?” The words came so fast that Roger had a hard time understanding them, he opened his mouth but Rafa beat him to it. “I hear about Mirka. So sorry, Roger. Hope you okay soon. Hope she okay soon.” He then turned around to gather all his stuff at lightning speed. “Well, Roger, very nice seeing you but I have to go.”

 

Roger took a step to the side to block his escape. “Where?”

 

“Whot?”

 

Roger almost smiled at how adorable Rafa sounded when saying that particular word. “Where do you have to go?”

 

He looked perplexed for a moment and then focused his eyes on his racket bag. “I… I have to go… to… see… Toni?”

 

Roger smirked “Are you asking me?”

 

“No, no. I have, I have!” he rushed to say.

 

“Are you trying to avoid me?”

 

“No, Roger, no. Of course no.”

 

Roger crossed his arms “Really? Could have fooled me. What’s going on, Raf?”

 

The Spaniard bit that lovely lip again. Way too hard. “I… I embarrass. About party at Wimbledon. About… saying things. About… doing the… kiss. I so sorry… I…”

 

Roger waited for Rafa to continue until he couldn’t, so he moved slowly closer to him “You?”

 

Rafa took a step back almost touching the metallic lockers but finally rose his face to look at Roger. God, he was as beautiful, even with the deer caught in the headlights expression. “I… hear about… You and Mirka and… think… maybe my fault. Roger, I know… no… because… me nothing… but… maybe I cause problem.”

 

There were two ways of playing this. He could take the soft approach, take his time, be patient, slowly and steadily place the ball in Rafa’s line, make it easy for him, let him lead. Or, he could play aggressive. He could go for the ace.

 

“You did” said Roger. “You did cause problems and of course it was your fault.”

 

Rafa looked mortified. All of his face suddenly stricken by pain. “Oh my god. I so sorry. So sorry. I explain to Mirka, I apologize. I say never do it again. I promise, Rogi, I do that.”

 

“Finally!” Roger yelled and then he wrapped his arms around Rafa, racket bag and all. “Finally, you’ve called me Rogi.” He pressed his forehead to those soft and wet curls “I never thought my name sounded bad until you said it that way so many times.”

 

Rafa seemed paralyzed but was shaking like a leaf at the same time. Roger made him drop his bags and then he put him in his arms again.

 

“Rogi… I don’t understand”, said Rafa against his left shoulder. His breath was short and fast.

 

Roger leaned back a bit to face him, but he kept his arms around him. “Rafa, you didn’t do anything bad that night. It was… one of the most wonderful nights of my life… Also, a very sad one. It changed me, Raf. It made me realize lots of things.”

 

“What things?” His eyes were shinny and blurry. Roger used his hands to softly follow the profile of those gorgeous eyes.

 

“That I look at you more… And I definitely look at you different.” He felt a smile growing from deep inside, where the real ones come from. “I can’t really say that I like guys from Mallorca though. Because, actually… I only like one guy from Mallorca and his name is Rafa Nadal.”  

 

He softly cradled Rafa’s face and ever so slowly he descended on those trembling lips. They were an inferno. Just like he remembered. Just like he hoped.

 

It felt like an eternity, but it was only five seconds. Then Rafa pulled back.

 

“Rogi, no.” He struggled to leave his arms and Roger let him go but did not move an inch from him. “I not… I not good for you… I… Mirka. Mirka, good, beautiful, elegant. Mirka… woman, Mirka give you children, Rogi.” He started to cry, Roger went to hold him but Rafa’s hands grabbed his forearms to keep them apart. He was looking at the floor. The tears kept falling.

 

“I… no, Rogi. I can’t… that for Rogi. You want to be father, you have to be. Perfect father for perfect babies. Not with me… Rogi. No… Not good. Me… stupid, get angry. Me… not… good for Rogi.”

 

Roger fought to free his arms “Rafa, you’re perfect”.

 

“I am not!” He was shaking his head violently, the beautiful curls whipping his face mercilessly.  “I… just lucky. Hit hard. I lucky, Tony say lefty… I do lefty… I just work, Rogi. Not special.”

 

Roger’s arms’ strength would never compare to Rafa’s. But Roger had more will than Rafa. He’d been fighting longer. He knew how to hit back. Always.

 

“RAFAEL!”

 

Rafa froze at hearing his full name. He approached the younger man decidedly and Rafa must have seen it in his eyes because he didn’t try to stop him this time. Roger stood a short inch from him. “Rafael Nadal Parera, you are not perfect.”

 

Rafa bit his lip and Roger, softly, used a finger to make him release it. He put his other hand around his shoulders, like he had done some many times at the net. A familiar gesture on an unfamiliar situation. “Your English is not great. You’re a very hot-headed. You’re also a bit of a nightmare on court with your one-thousand-and-one rituals. And, sometimes, when you hit five forehands at me, one after the other, I think that I’d really like to murder you, but… you are perfect to me... And you are perfect for me”.

 

Rafa’s breath caught in his chest and Roger heard it perfectly “Can’t be true, Rogi”.

 

Roger leaned his forehead until it touched his “It is, Raf”.

 

“No, Roger. Can’t be. Too dangerous for you. Be with boy no good. Would lose a lot. Not worth. Not worth your career, Rogi.”

 

Roger was taken aback. Because he had prepared for almost everything, but he hadn’t prepared for that. He shouldn’t be surprised though. Rafa Nadal was the one person who always managed to turn everything upside down for him.

 

He should have listened to Mirka that morning when she said Rafa thought he wasn’t worthy of him. Rafa truly believed that. It was heart-breaking.

 

“Rafa” he sighed.

 

Rafa looked at him, his face suddenly clear, calm. He held Roger’s face with his hands. The left one, as always, was covered in tape that starched his cheek. “Just one….” Rafa whispered “Just one time to remember… Like dream.”

 

Rafa’s brown eyes closed as he leaned into Roger. He kissed him.

 

It wasn’t like that stolen instant in London. It was a full kiss. With lips and tongue and air stolen from his lungs. It was a marathon and a sprint at the same time. It was the intensity of Rafa’s game made into a tiny but powerful thing.

 

And Roger lost that game. He surrendered to it. Rafa was domineering and for someone so young he knew what to do. His tongue was unbelievable, so soft inside his mouth, yet so intense. Roger felt himself grab at Rafa’s shirt to keep standing. And the taste. The taste was pure Rafa. It was sea and it was earth and it was acid cherries. And it instantly became his new favourite flavour. And of course, it was hot. So hot Roger thought his face would melt.

And, then, like that, the heat and the flavour were gone.

 

Roger opened his eyes, Rafa stepped back once more and was gathering his things. He avoided Roger’s eyes when he passed next to him to get to the door.

 

Roger stood in the middle of the room, his cheeks burning and his eyes wet, half from the kiss, half from Rafa’s words. This was not how it was supposed to go. This was not his goal.

 

No.

 

This was not how it was going to go.

 

Roger turned, he made two fast strides and grabbed Rafa’s arm and pushed until the Spaniard’s body was pressed against his own.

 

“You never run away, Rafa. Don’t start now.”

 

Rafa was looking at him with an ongoing battle in his maroon pupils. “Rogi…”

 

Roger lifted his right hand and grabbed Rafa’s left. “I like you Rafa. I like a guy from Mallorca.”

 

Rafa’s cheeks turned to crimson, Roger felt his heart swell. “And you, Rafa? Do you like guys from Switzerland?”

 

Rafa smiled, not sun-smile, but a moon-smile which was smaller, more secretive, just as beautiful.

 

“I only like one guy from Switzerland. His name is Roger Federer.”

 

A thousand butterflies filled Roger’s stomach, he tried to copy Rafa’s smile. “You should kiss that guy, Rafa.”

 

And Rafa did.

 

And it wasn’t a dream.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What did you think?  
> Comments are really appreciated!!!  
> Thanks a lot! 
> 
>  
> 
> By the way, when Rafa was playing with his phone, he was actually trying to get the guts to text Roger. Lol. 
> 
>  
> 
> Rogi is number one again! :) As long as they are 1 and 2 I'm happy.


	3. I dream we travel the world together on the tour...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Third dream/goal.
> 
> So, Roger doesn't have a girlfriend and likes a guy from Mallorca. Now, what?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long wait! June and july are super busy months for me and with Wimbledon there was this story that I just *needed* to write and that was soooo long.  
> And now... this is seriously getting out of hand. It’s long too, guys. Sorry. Lol.  
> I guess that’s what happens when you don’t plan the story. Also, I really and royally suck at tagging and rating so please, any help and recommendation on that front is really most welcome! (I really need it, I'm really rubbish at that). 
> 
> As always, any mistakes are my own, English is not my first language. 
> 
> One important note though: This is of course fiction, any attitudes or behaviors displayed here are pure imagination and don’t represent or reflect the real people portrayed in them, it's all for the sake of the story. (Hopefully this will make sense by the end of the chapter). 
> 
> Also, there is some Mallorquí spoken in this chapter, translations can be found at the End Notes.

 

The kissing lasted exactly three and half glorious minutes until Rafa’s mobile phone started blasting in his bag. Rafa jumped higher than he did in his pre-match rituals.

He reached for the phone when whatever he saw on the screen made his gorgeous copper skin turn white.

 

“Hola. Sí, sí, ja estic. No, no passa res. Ja venc.”

 

He hanged up but kept his eyes on the device. Roger used one of his hands to raise his chin, softly. Rafa looked scared.

 

“What’s going on?”

 

Rafa swallowed. “Toni and my team are waiting. I have to go.”

 

“Oh, okay.”

 

Rafa took a step back, breaking their contact.

 

“When can I see you?” Roger asked.

 

Rafa bit his lip. “I don’t know…”

 

“Rafa, we said no running.”

 

“I know, but. Is… difficult. Now I… can’t.”

 

Roger took pity on him. “Okay. Look, we’re in the same hotel. I’m in the penthouse. Come tonight, we’ll talk.”

 

“I don’t know when alone.” Roger smiled. “I don’t care when, Raf, as long as you come.”

Rafa smiled at him and went to get the door handle. He looked at it like it was something strange and foreign before turning around a planting a quick peck to Roger’s lips. He then disappeared down the corridor, his powerful fast steps resonating on the tiled floor.

 

Roger stood alone on that locker room looking like an idiot with a madman’s smile on his face until a janitor came in to clean.

 

***

 

Roger was a patient man. Or rather, he was a patient tennis player.

On the court he never felt the need to rush a point or to make a winner. He liked to take his time. Each match had its own cadence and Roger could play them all, even the slowest of them.

He was also a patient tennis player off the court.

Whether it was smiling for a thousand pictures, answering the same question a hundred times or politely listening to old ladies who had nothing worth saying. He could do that too… perfectly. But…

 

But waiting for Rafa to come to his room was proving to be a nightmare.

His palms were sweaty, he kept pacing the room even though he hated the squeaky noise his shoes made on the hardwood floor and he was biting his lip so hard that by the time Rafa got here, there’d be nothing left to kiss.

 

This wasn’t like him.

 

Granted, though, this situation was the unlikeliest of scenarios. He was in a room alone, a room that would normally be filled with his team and his manager/girlfriend. He was anxious, anxiety that was somewhat common before the start of a tournament but never ever for something that wasn’t the outcome of the matches. Yet, here he was, alone and wired, thinking and obsessing about a boy.

 

God, he was pathetic. Mirka would laugh.

 

He should really get it together. He was twenty-five. He was passed this giddiness. He was in control.

 

There was a knock on his door. He ran to it.

 

Okay, no. He wasn’t in control. He was a teenager.

 

He opened it and there stood Rafa, all dark curls framing his face. He wore a black Nike t-shirt so tight that should probably be considered lingerie and a pair of dark jeans that looked painted on.

 

Mirka had asked him as a joke if he thought he’d be able to have sex with Rafa. Roger thought right now he wasn’t sure if he’d be able to not have sex with Rafa.

 

He ushered him into the room and shut the door quickly. He wanted the outside world, out, and for him and Rafa and this room to be the only thing in existence. He put a hand on Rafa’s hair and trailed it down to the back of his neck. His skin was hot, as always. Roger leaned in, he wanted that fire on his mouth, again.

 

Rafa let out a gasp when their lips met. Roger swallowed it.

 

This time, he controlled the kiss. He controlled it all. And Rafa, beautiful, strong, unbent Rafa, turned to clay under his hands. His chin turned, his mouth opened, his eyes closed. Roger didn’t know how he could feel so much electricity cursing through his body and not die. It was the opposite, really, he had never felt more alive, more aware, more present. His senses had never been so powerful.

 

He felt it in his touch, with his hands roaming through Rafa’s body. Every square millimetre of his skin touching felt like a tiny explosion of white heat. His eyes, even shut, could make up Rafa’s form with a palette of infinite vibrant colours, most of which he’d never seen before. His smell was not only in his nose anymore, rather it was in every part of his body creating a cloud of sea water, sweat, lemon and oak that was so strong it was almost solid. His hearing became a symphony of loud beautiful noises. Rafa’s hitched breath, the liquid suction of lips moving, the constant hissing of hands roaming, the drumming beat of both of their hearts. And in the centre of all, his taste. His taste drinking that unique flavour that was so good it burned his insides.

 

Everything burned with Rafa.

 

Roger had never experienced anything like this. Not with Mirka, not before, when he was a horny teenager desperate to touch. Nothing had ever felt like this and Roger wasn’t sure why. One thing he knew, though, every passing second he wanted this a little more.

 

“Roger.” The kiss ended suddenly but sweetly. Roger cradled Rafa’s face in his hands. “What is it?”

 

“I need say… many things.” Rafa took two steps back and breathed deeply. Then he looked around the room and went to sit on the nice fancy white sofa. He pointed to the armchair next to it and Roger sat there. He’d have rather sit next to Rafa.

 

“I so nervous… I’m sorry.”

 

Roger reached out to grab his hand “Hey. It’s okay. No hurry. Take your time.”

 

Rafa bit his lip. “I don’t know… how to begin.”

 

The other time, when faced with a similar situation, Roger had decided to play aggressive with Rafa, but he saw clearly that he couldn’t do that this time around. He took a long breath. “Okay. How about I ask you some questions and we go from there?”

 

Rafa looked so grateful, Roger felt his heart clench. “Good. So… Easy one. Why are you so nervous?”

 

Rafa laughed showing his beautiful dimples. “That’s not easy one, Rogelio. That’s probably hardest one!” He nodded smiling slightly. “But I try…. I nervous because… of many things.”

 

Roger inhaled as quietly as he could. This could take longer than a five-set match. He braced himself. “Do I make you nervous?”

 

Rafa smiled, shyly “Yes. Not because Roger is Roger but… because… this first time… first time someone I like, likes me too.”

 

Roger found that impossible to believe but he decided to keep that to himself. “Is there anything I can do to make it easier?” Rafa looked at him straight in the eye. The bronze skin of his cheeks had turned red, he patted to the space next to him in the sofa. Roger moved there are fast as he could without seeming desperate. He was there in three and a half seconds which was only mildly desperate. Their thighs were touching and Rafa grabbed his left hand and intertwined their fingers. “This is not bad nervous. Is good nervous, like match against you nervous. Exciting, no?”

 

Roger smirked, he was excited all right. He leaned in to place a butterfly kiss on Rafa’s cheek. Rafa’s eyes automatically closed. He was too adorable for Roger’s poor heart. He caressed his hair. “Okay. Good nervous is nothing to worry about, but is there a bad nervous?”

 

The vibrant reddish brown of Rafa’s eyes turned to dull mud in a second. He nodded. He squeezed Roger’s hand very tightly. “I… am nervous too because… I am a boy who likes boys.” Roger blinked. “You’re nervous because you’re gay?”

 

Rafa shook his head. “My English is very shit.” He took a long breath. “Is not only nervous is worried… I…” he stood up abruptly. He took three steps away from Roger. “I don’t know how to say… is… sounds… very bad… I don’t want to sound bad.”

 

Roger put a hand forward and Rafa gripped it like it was a lifeline. “Just tell me, Rafa. I’m sure is not as bad as you think, I promise.”

 

Rafa looked dismayed and he swallowed before averting his eyes to the windows. “My family… they very nice but… they don’t like the gay.”

 

Okay. Maybe it was as bad as Rafa thought. It was Roger’s turn to swallow “Do they know you…?”

 

Rafa jumped, letting go like he was fire “No, no! Impossible! My dad hate me if I say gay!”

 

“Oh, Raf. That’s… terrible.”

 

Rafa looked heartbroken “My family good, I promise, Rogi, but gay… is not natural, no? So… they don’t like… I understand.” It was now Roger’s turn to jump. He put his hands on Rafa’s shoulders “No, Raf. You should not understand that.”

 

Rafa refused to look at him but he allowed for Roger's hands to stay where they were “Two year ago gay marriage go legal in Spain… I so happy. I think, if legal is okay, no? Because legal is right thing. But… my father… when he sees news, so angry… he yell so many… so many… bad words… He say is just political but gay very, very wrong.”

 

A tiny droplet fell to the hardwood floor and Roger couldn’t take it anymore, he gathered Rafa in his arms. He wanted, no, he needed to protect him. “I… am scared”, he heard him say against his shoulder. “My family… is all. Very important. I need. I… not like you. I scared, don’t want travel alone. I can’t. If I say… my parents… my dad angry, my mom cry… and uncle Toni… I don’t know.”

 

Rafa turned to look at Roger. His eyes were red and overflowing with tears. “My father is older brother, no? So, he head of the family… Maybe he say Toni: You can’t travel with Rafael. If he want to be gay and play, he do alone. And… I really can’t do alone. Cannot travel alone, Rogi. So scary.”

 

Rafa burst into tears with mouth releasing a strangled cry. Roger felt his own eyes water.  “Rafa, I wouldn’t leave you alone, okay?” He combed through his curls. “We could travel together. That’s what you said, right? That night. You said: I dream we travel together on tour.”

 

“I say many stupid things that night, Rogi.” Roger could detect a shadow of a smile against his neck. “The only stupid thing you said that night, was that all those dreams you had were impossible.” He grabbed Rafa, so they were face to face. “I’ll show you. They are not impossible. I promise that I’ll show you.”

 

Two more tears fell from Rafa’s eyes, but those two didn’t come from sadness, so Roger gathered them with his lips to place them onto Rafa’s.

 

They sat back on the sofa, Rafa half on his lap. It’s was quite strange. Rafa and him were the same height although Rafa was more muscular than him, and still, he had found a way to fold himself on top of Roger and look almost tiny. It was probably his face. It was open, like when he was in a presser and he forgot needed to protect himself or when he was running towards the net to find Roger after a match. It was pure Rafa. In every sense. “I cannot believe this is real, Rogi.”

 

“What can you not believe?”

 

His cheeks got those adorable red splotches. “I cannot believe I’m… here… in your arms and that we kissed… thirteen times.”

 

Roger let out a chuckle “You’ve been counting?” Rafa jumped from his arms and ran to the bathroom. Roger was too shocked to move.

 

“Rafa? What’s going on?” Something that was half huff half whimper came from behind the closed door. “Rafa?”

 

“I too embarrass, Rogi. Little embarrass is fine, but now too embarrass. All face and neck red. I don’t want to show you this.”

 

Roger had been sure before that he was in love with Rafa. But he hadn’t counted on falling in love even more. But, it made sense that this could happen. He was in love with the Rafa he knew, but that was just a small percentage of the Rafa that existed. The pursuit of his goals turned, suddenly, even more thrilling. How many times, he wondered, could he fall in love with Rafa?

 

He rose to his feed to go to the bathroom. He knocked on the door. “Can I come in?” “No. Never out of here, stay here to live. You send me food. I live. Want bread, Nutella and Cacaolat. Maybe you no find Cacaolat outside Spain, so vanilla milkshake is okay.” He sounded half serious.

 

Roger leaned into the door. “Rafa, you won’t become world number one if you stay in a bathroom.” “Rogi, you can be Number One always.” Even in their hilarity, Rafa’s words were moving. Roger guessed this was the stupidity that came with love. The same one he had so thoroughly mocked in others in the past. God, if Mirka could see him now... “That’s lovely, thank you. But, if you stay here Novak may become Number Two. Are you alright with that as well?

 

The door burst open and in a second he had Rafa right on his face. His eyes were fire. “No. Top is only for you and me. Novak and Davydenko and Andy and Ferru and Gasquet can try, but not get to us.”

 

Roger smiled with a kind a pride he’d only ever felt for himself. He put his hands behind Rafa’s neck. “Yeah” he almost moaned. “The top belongs to Federer and Nadal.” Rafa’s eyes narrowed and then Roger experienced kiss number fourteen. Which wasn’t a kiss. It was sex. Rough and filthy sex.

 

Next thing he knew, he was lying on the bed, Rafa on top of him, every inch of his body connected to every inch of Rafa’s body. And, god, he was hard. “You’re so hot” he whispered pulling the Nike t-shirt up to free that perfect body.  

 

Rafa smiled wickedly while raising to take off the shirt and throwing it somewhere behind them “You make me this way.” Roger put his hand on that chest he’d seen so many times in locker rooms and courts all over the world and thought he might not survive the night. He pushed Rafa down again, to feel that glorious skin on him. “Kiss me, Rafa. Kiss me until I can’t breathe.” Rafa let out a strangled cry but he assaulted Roger’s lips with the intensity of his forehand.

 

Roger’s hand started roaming through that golden burning skin. He touched his chest, his shoulders, his powerful arms, his strong back until he came in contact with Rafa’s famous ass. He wanted to bite his lip, but we settled for biting Rafa’s before grabbing two handfuls of that magnificent behind. Then he pushed.

 

The second his erection made contact with Rafa’s, everything turned white. Rafa broke the kiss to release a moan that was unlike any sound Roger had ever heard from him. It was angelic and devilish at the same time and had Roger moaning in return. Rafa spread his legs around Roger, offering a new angle of contact. “God, Rafa.”

 

Rafa’s eyes were closed, his mouth open, his lips red. He was so beautiful. Roger led instinct guide him. He used his hands to push Rafa’s ass forward so their cocks would rub together. Even with layers of underwear and jean between them, Roger felt it all the way to his toes. “Rogi. More.”

 

Roger released Rafa’s ass to open Rafa’s jeans and to push them down. Rafa looked at what he was doing and with trembling hands he went for Roger’s fly to do the same. When Rafa’s hand to touched his underwear, Roger felt himself leak. God, he was going to come like this. Mirka would die of asphyxiation from laughing so much.  

 

“Roger…” Rafa moaned his name, his eyes were still fixed on his underwear, he bit his lip before lowering his own hips in one fluid motion. The moment his white underwear collided with Rafa’s black one, was the moment the universe exploded. “Ahhh, Rogi…”

 

Roger caught those red lips on his again and put his hands to his new favourite thing to hold, Rafa’s ass. He wouldn’t be able to control himself, he wouldn’t be able to take his time, he wouldn’t be able to savour. He would only be able to throw himself into this burning pit until he was consumed.

 

He pushed Rafa’s ass forward and his dick, wet at the tip, felt Rafa’s. They both moaned inside the kiss.

 

“Is okay just like this, Roger? You not want…” Rafa’s breath was hitched. “Is it okay for you, Raf?” asked Roger the same way. The next thrust had Rafa closing his eyes while Roger licked his neck “Yes, I need… I need…”

 

“I know what you need.” He spoke into Rafa’s mouth “I need the same.”

 

Rafa’s eyes opened again and they were completely black “Then make it happen, Roger. Make me finish.” Roger smirked “Cum. In English they say ‘make me cum’.”

 

Rafa grabbed Roger’s hair and pulled, hard. “And in Spanish we say ‘haz que me corra’ it mean ‘make me run’, so? Words not important now, Roger.” Rafa dove into his neck and started biting while his hips were mercilessly pushing into Roger’s. It was too much. “Stupid Roger, I make you… cum”.

 

And Rafa did and Roger saw stars. He saw half the galaxy. And when he felt Rafa tense and tremble on top of him, he saw the other half.

 

He was breathless because he had just come in his pants after some humping. He really was a teenager.

 

Rafa was heavy on him. It was so good. “God. That was…” He turned his face to kiss Rafa, but he hid his face in Roger’s neck. “What?” Roger smiled “Rafa, you okay?” Rafa let out a very close impression to a horse’s whine. “Not okay, Rogi. I say… many rude things… I… embarrass… I do this.”

 

 “Sex?” Roger felt his smile grow, because he had an inkling of where this was going “No, not that. But… I tell you… oh, I die of embarrass now for sure.” This naïve and cute side of Rafa, was definitely going to be the end of Roger.

 

He had to use all of his arms strength to turn them around, so he was on top and Rafa had no other choice but to look at him. “Rafa, that was the hottest thing I’ve even seen.” Rafa averted his eyes “You lie.”

 

Roger let out that giggle now “I just came in my pants, Rafa, and I’m twenty-five. I couldn’t lie about that if I wanted to.” Rafa let out a tiny smile before burrowing his face back into Roger’s neck. “You like my neck? Is it a good hiding place?”

 

“Is my favourite place.” And that made Roger feel it again, that deep love that ran between them. He lost his fingers in Rafa’s hair and closed his eyes. He wanted to live in this moment for a little while.

 

Eventually, though, he forced himself to say “Rafa, we need to clean ourselves… and sleep. We are both training tomorrow, right?” Rafa let out a tired sigh. “I know, baby. I don’t want to move either.” Rafa wiggled himself from under Roger and then sat on the bed, his eyes fixed on the carpet and biting his lip. “What’s up?” said Roger. Rafa shook his head.

 

“We don’t need to sleep together, Rafa. It’s okay if you want to go back to your room.” Rafa looked at him, his eyes were back to their usual beautiful chocolate colour. “No, I want. Very a lot. Is just…”

 

“Just?” Rafa frowned his lips and moved them from side to side, like a bunny. “Is stupid no? But… I think I more… secure in my room. Can you come? If not, is okay. I sleep here. I want to sleep with you very much, Rogi.” Roger sat up to kiss him.

 

That’s how an hour later, an hour when he would normally already be fast asleep, he found himself in Rafa’s room. It was smaller than his and it was tidy, except for small piles of chaos here and there. A PlayStation set by the TV, a dozen wrapped Babolat rackets by the corner, two plastic bags bursting with Nike clothes on the sofa and a small mountain of wet towels on the floor by the bathroom door. What was not chaos, but pure peace, was the bed. His body freshly showered laying under the soft linen white sheets. A head full of slightly wet curls on his neck, a strong left arm on his chest and the slow but steady sound of a sleeping breath.

 

Roger was so happy, he didn’t know if he’d be able to sleep. But he didn’t care.

 

During this month he had dreamed how their first night would go. And it wasn’t like it had happened. The night had been imperfect, but, luckily for Roger, Rafa wasn't.

 

***

 

“Rafael, lleva’t!” Roger rose abruptly.

 

By the door stood Toni Nadal, white polo shirt and white cap, arms crossed over his chest. The man opened his mouth into a perfect O when he saw Roger.

 

“Toni, és d’hora.” Rafa complained from under the sheets. Sheets he was sharing with Roger.

“RAFAEL!” yelled Toni.

 

Rafa came out from under his linen cocoon with a clearly annoyed expression on his face. He looked at his uncle, confused. Then he looked at Roger… and then at himself. He took in both of their naked chests. And then it happened. Everything sank in and his expression turned into the perfect picture of fear. “Toni… Toni… no és…”

 

Toni didn’t say a word, but his expression cut Rafa’s voice. He looked down, scared. And Roger couldn’t hold it anymore. “Toni” he started. The man raised a finger at him. “I no talk with you. I talk with Rafael. You go. Now.”

 

“The fuck I will” said Roger. The curse word made Rafa jump and Toni frown. Roger reached under the sheets for Rafa’s hands. He found them made into tight fists, tension vibrating from every joint. Roger touched them and Rafa whimpered.

 

“Rafael, fes que se’n vage” said Toni in a low voice. Rafael looked at his uncle then. Dark powerful eyes into dark powerful eyes. Not a word was uttered, but Roger realized a conversation was taking place. After a long minute, Rafa sighed. “Roger, can you go?”

 

Roger turned look at him. “Rafa, I’d rather stay with you.” Rafa shook his head. “I need to speak with Toni.” He was ready to protest but then he saw, deep in Rafa’s eyes, the determination that had made him the winner he was.  

 

There was no defeating that. Still, Roger had to try. He leaned to Rafa’s ear “Are you completely sure? I want to stay, I can help you.” Rafa looked at him, a shadow of a tiny smile on his lips. “I know. You help. But… I must talk myself. Is okay, go.”

 

Roger looked at Toni then, seizing him up. The man was a wall, he was undaunted and unreadable.  

 

Roger rose from the bed displaying a confidence he wasn’t feeling and went to the chair with his folded clothes. He took his time dressing, not too much, but not too little, he was proving a point. He wasn’t scared, he belonged here.

 

When he was done, he went back to the bed and gave Rafa a chaste kiss on the lips. Rafa didn’t deny him. He breathed to him “Call me, as soon as you can, or come see me, okay?” Rafa nodded.

 

Roger then went to Toni Nadal until he was standing an inch away from him, he could hear his breathing and almost feel his beating heart. He could sense his anger towards Roger, but he wasn’t scared. “Listen to me, if you hurt him in any way. I’ll fucking end you. You hear me?”

 

“I not scared of you” he said with his usual monotonal voice.

 

Roger smirked, “You should be. I only play nice for TV.”

 

He made sure to kick the door hard on his way out.

 

***

 

Not more than three notes had come out of his mobile when Roger pushed the button.  “Rogi?”

 

“I’m here, Raf.” There was a second of silence. “Can you come to my room?” Roger looked down at his clothes, he was just off the court, after his dreadful training session, covered in sweat and dirt. He didn’t care. “I’ll be there in five minutes.

 

“Okay.”

 

The door of Rafa’s room opened painfully slow. So slow that Roger had time to imagine dozens of horrible scenarios where Rafa had red rimmed eyes and purple bruises. Roger didn’t wait for Rafa to invite him in. As soon as the door was ajar enough, he sneaked inside. He shut it with his foot and then braced himself to look at Rafa.

 

His eyes, as he feared, were red from crying but they were also brightly calm. And there was a small and reassuring smile dancing in his lips. Roger felt his body drop two hundred pounds of regret in an instant. He reached out and touch Rafa’s cheek. “Are you okay, baby?”

 

Rafa nodded, leaning into his touch. His skin was pure heat, as always. “Toni say… Toni say he always know. Say that why he train me. He want to protect me.”

 

Roger’s breath caught on his chest and he felt a stab that was half pain half joy. Rafa continued “He say, after tournament finish, he go to Mallorca, fight father… for me…. He say… he say gay is okay, Rogi.”

 

Roger hugged Rafa with all of his might. “Of course it is.”

 

Rafa moved his head a bit until he found that place he liked, deep in his right shoulder with his nose glued to Roger’s neck. “What you say before… about travel. You say for real? You mean? We… can travel together on tour?”

 

“Nothing would make me happier, Raf.”

 

Rafa nodded against him “But we need be very careful. Still… I still we can’t say… I need… time… Family… Also… career. Both. Must protect.”

 

Roger sighed, caressing the hair at the back of Rafa’s neck “Rafa… I’d love to shout it through the roofs but… I know it’s not time yet.”

 

Rafa started kissing the way up his neck. “Is soon, no?” his voice was teasing. “You maybe think gay now… but… maybe you try with me and don’t like….”

 

Roger chucked “Rafa, if last night is anything to go by… I really doubt I won’t like it. But…” He interrupted himself to kiss Rafa’s lips.  “I really want to try with you. Only you.”

 

Rafa got impossibly red and Roger raised an eyebrow. Rafa’s embarrassment kept surprising him. “Rogi… I… never do this…”

 

“What?” Rafa bit his lip. “Sex... Is embarrassing no? I twenty-one but still…”

 

Roger swallowed “A virgin?”

 

“Yeah. Always scared… people know… so…”

 

Roger made a face. “Rafa, I’m twenty-five and I’m also a virgin.”

 

Rafa hit him in the chest. “Impossible!”

 

Roger smirked “I’m a virgin with men.”

 

He was hit again “Stupid, Roger.” Roger caught Rafa’s hands and dropped them behind his neck before putting his own around Rafa’s waist. “But I really want to travel with you.”

 

They leaned for a kiss at the same time.

 

_“I dream we travel the world together on the tour...”_

 

That sounded dreamy but would probably be difficult and complicated, but for the boy in his arms, he’d do it. He’d do it to the ends of the Earth and back.

 

“Rogi” Rafa whispered. “Please shower, you smell very bad.”

 

Right.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:  
> “Hola. Sí, sí, ja estic. No, no passa res. Ja venc.”: Hi. Yeah, yeah, I’m done. No, everything is fine. I’m coming.  
> “Rafael, lleva’t!”: Rafael, get up!  
> “Toni, és d’hora”: Toni, it’s early.  
> “Toni… Toni… no és…”: Toni… Toni… it’s not…  
> “Rafael, fes que se’n vage”: Rafael, make him go away
> 
> Notes:  
> *Cacaolat is a very typical chocolate drink very popular among children and teenagers in Spain. 
> 
> ***
> 
> Did you like it?  
> I haven't written "sexy times" in forever, so sorry. Hopefully I'll get better, if not, I'll glaze over it. Lol. 
> 
> Thank you for everyone who was waiting for this chapter. I hope it wasn't a let down! 
> 
> As always, I love to hear what you think! 
> 
> And, well... Wimbledon... but the babes are still safely where they belong as Number 1 and Number 2. And I know a lot of people are really sad for Rafa, but he did amazing, he came so close! I'm really proud of him!


	4. I dream we have breakfast together every day. You have Lindt chocolates and I have Nutella and we no get fat...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fourth dream/goal.
> 
> So, Roger doesn't have a girlfriend and likes a guy from Mallorca and they travel together on the tour. So, what's next?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been forever I know. I really know. I'm sorry for the long wait!!  
> The thing is that I hit a really hard wall with this chapter because since the story was unplanned, I had to sort out lots of things. Also, I wanted the plot to move along because some of the remaining goals/dreams require time passing but I think I needed to show how their relationship was building... so, here we are... a chapter that depicts the American hardcourt season of 2007. It's a beast of a chapter. I hope that makes up for the delay!  
> I'm hopeful the next chapters won't take me so long.  
> Thanks a lot for the patience! It really means a lot!  
> (Also, that rating has gone up ya'll)  
> As always, not English native, so mistakes ahead!  
> There's one or two phrases in Majorcan, translations are in the end notes.

Their first morning together had been spoiled by Toni barging in on them, so Roger hadn’t been able to put his plan in motion. No Lindt or Nutella on sight. And then the tournament had started and as much as he was cloudy from the novelty of his relationship with Rafa, he had come to Canada to defend his title. And he was well underway.

 

Rafa was also doing amazing, specially for someone who was going through what he was going through. Roger had asked him about it and Rafa had just shrugged and said “The court is time for tennis only, life and other things get all the time out the court, so in court, only tennis”. Rafa had this magical way of making the biggest of impacts on the simplest of statements.

 

Roger had smirked then, “You don’t ever think about me on court?”

 

Rafa had smirked right back at him, while picking up his racket bag on his way to the door “Not on court, Rogi. But I think about you on locker room.”

 

The door had shut behind him and Roger had just stood there half salivating half imitating a fish out of water.

 

Roger kept thinking it’d be amazing yet scary to have a Federer-Nadal final here in Canada. He loved nothing more than to play Rafa, but he wasn’t sure what it would be like now that he knew they loved each other. He wasn’t concerned with him and Rafa, rather, he was concerned for the people watching. But not concerned enough that he’d wished he played somebody else. That, never.

 

But then freaking hurricane Novak Djokovic had to appear to spoil it all by taking Rafa out in the semis. That pissed Roger off. He would see the Serbian out in the final and Rafa would be avenged. He had defeated Novak before, he could do it again.

 

Only, he didn’t. Djokovic defeated him too.

 

It always hurt to lose a final.

It hurt a bit more to lose a title he was defending.

It hurt an extra bit because he realized that now that it had happened, it would probably happen again.

And Roger didn’t want that.

If someone was to beat him, that someone better be Rafa. Roger didn’t want to worry about anyone else climbing at the top of the ranking.

 

And yet, that was tennis, and that was why he loved it. Because, some years ago, he had been that guy looking up at Sampras, Hewitt and Agassi, dreaming of the day he’d be among them, above them.

 

But, still, tonight, tired and defeated, he just wanted to lie down in silence and wallow a bit in self-pity.

 

“Roger…”

 

He looked up from the book he was pretending to read. Rafa was sitting on the foot of the bed, freshly showered “I want to do something”.

 

Tempting, but not enough to get him out of his self-imposed misery, so he sighed. “Rafa, I’m actually really tired and a bit sad… Can we just stay in? Or… you can go out if you want. Call the Argentines or the Armada, I’ll stay here.”

 

Rafa pursed his lips “Rogi, what is want is for here”.

 

“Oh, okay. What is it?” Roger hoped it wasn’t a PlayStation marathon, he really didn’t feel up for it.

 

“I want to do blowjob to you, Rogi.” Roger almost fell off the bed “What?”

 

“You want?”

 

Roger did his now patented fish out of water imitation.

 

Rafa bit his lip, his cheeks got crimson, but he looked determined. “Remember you ask if I think about you in court and what I say…?” Roger nodded. “I think about doing that to you a lot… in locker room.”

 

Roger’s sadness, disappointed and exhaustion suddenly became this high tension that was sending shocks throughout his body. He felt his own cheeks burn “How much is a lot? And since when?”

 

Rafa started crawling on the bed, like a lazy panther until he was on top of him, their faces only inches apart. “A lot is a lot, Rogi” Rafa looked at him from under his dark lashes and Roger forgot how to breathe. The Spaniard smiled and went to put his mouth on Roger’s neck.

 

“Remember second match we play? Miami 2005. Our first five-set match.” Roger nodded. “I start so well, win two sets, then you come back, and win the third set tie-break. And then, sets four and five you… just… fly. I can’t do anything. You’re too powerful… and so beautiful… Your tennis so beautiful… Your face… Your eyes so bright… You destroy me in final set and I want to be sad… But… I just… so hot. And you hug me in the net and I smell you and is too much…”

 

Roger felt his trousers grow tight, he caressed Rafa’s back. “We go to locker room to shower and I… can’t… I know is very, very, bad but I can’t stop…. So I touch in the shower and I think… I imagine I go to your shower and just go to knees and…”

 

“Shit.” Roger grabbed him by the neck of the shirt and brought Rafa to him. He devoured his mouth. “Fucking do it, Raf.”

 

Rafa had the indecency to lick his upper lip before smiling and sliding down Roger’s body, every millimetre of his skin touching his until Rafa’s nose was nudging Roger’s covered erection.

 

The book hit the ground. Roger held his breath when Rafa’s hands took off his trousers and underwear. It shouldn’t be sexy. Sweatpants halfway through his legs, he shouldn’t feel sexy.

 

And yet, he did.

 

He had imagined this. How it would look, what it would feel like. His imagination didn’t even come close to reality. Rafa was inexperienced but he went into it with the same intensity he had on court. And, Roger, once more, felt Rafa’s heat would probably incinerate him. And he didn’t care. Not for one second.

 

And when those gorgeous lips finally wrapped around him, Roger saw heaven. But the only thing he wanted to see was his boy, his love, his Rafa.

 

Rafael was always beautiful but like this, he was also sinful. It was pure danger. And Roger loved it. He would have sold his soul at that moment.

 

Rafa would go from full on blowing him to tentative licks. It was driving Roger crazy, so much so that he wondered if the virgin thing was just a joke to mess with him.

 

Roger was moaning too. A lot. And burying his fingers deep on Rafa’s scalp, directing him, urging him. And Rafa just took it. Roger felt control abandon him to leave him just with white hot pleasure.

 

“Raf… I’m… gonn…” Roger tried to push him away but Rafa held on and winked at him and that’s when Roger lost it.

 

He blacked out.

 

When he came to there were shinny dots flying everywhere and a gorgeous Spaniard lying on top of him.  

 

Okay. Yeah. No denying it now.

 

He was gay.

 

Absolutely, totally and resolutely gay. At least for Rafael Nadal.

 

“Rogi… it was okay?” Rafa whispered. Roger blinked. “It was amazing.”

 

“Is the true?” Roger nodded and then reached his hand to get a hold of his lover and Rafa scrambled away to hide under the covers, pressing his face into the pillows. Roger leaned into him and when he saw the red splotches on Rafa’s cheeks, he smiled.

 

“Rafa, baby, I can’t understand… you did all that… you went and seduced me out of my funk, you made me come so hard I’ve passed out and now you’re acting all shy. Why?”

 

“Yuu moook ma lag guu” Rafa spoked directly into the pillow. “Raf, I didn’t get any of that.” Rafa turned his head to face the opposite way and avoid Roger. “You make me let go.”

 

Roger started caressing Rafa’s back in a slow vertical motion. “Is that bad?”

 

Rafa sighed and finally decided to look at him. He was biting his lip. “Is a bit strange… I lose so much control with you, Rogi… I always control. But with you I can’t control and part of me don’t want. But… also, other part… think a bit of shame… I want to touch Rogi and do many things with Rogi and it feels so good. But… after… I feel a bit… shame. Like… it’s bad thing.”

 

“Oh, Raf…”

 

Rafa quickly grabbed his hand and intertwined his fingers. “I know is not bad, but still a part of me… feels shame for sex….” He grabbed Roger’s hand and squeezed.  “But, every time is less and less” he sounded resolute. “And for me, doing things with you is way of showing you love. So it’s not wrong. I know this. I feel this. I will need some time, but I will forget shame and only have good feeling, Roger, I promise.”

 

“Yes, you will.” Roger kissed his tanned cheek “But actually, you are too adorable when you blush, so it’s fine with me if you take some time.”

 

Rafa kicked him. “Stupid, Roger.”

 

***

 

Roger opened his eyes ten minutes before the alarm went off. He was so excited. He looked to his side. And there was Rafa, spread like a starfish, dark hair on a white pillow. Luscious lips making soft music with each breath. Pure beauty.

 

Roger almost didn’t get out of bed. But then, he remembered why he was getting up so early.

 

_“I dream we have breakfast together every day. You have Lindt chocolates and I have Nutella and we no get fat...”_

 

Tiptoeing around the room he started getting things ready. He hid in the bathroom to call room service so that he didn’t wake Rafa.

 

Fifteen minutes later, he was ready.

 

He went back to bed and sat next to his sleeping beauty. God, he had never known he could be so corny and yet, he was. He didn’t regret it one bit. He leaned in to kiss Rafa’s soft lips. “Wake up, baby.”

 

Rafa scrunched his face without opening his eyes. “I no hear despertador” Rafa grumbled. “You don’t hear what?”

 

Rafa pursed his lips and he opened one single eye for a second. “Despertador, you know, morning, ring, ring.”

 

He meant the alarm clock. Roger kissed him again, more insistently, because he had to. Because Rafa was too cute not to. When the kiss ended, Rafa had both eyes wide open. “Okay. I awake now.”

 

“You like me better than the morning, ring, ring?” Rafa dragged him by the front of his shirt until Roger was laying completely on top of him. “Yes. You better.” And then they were kissing again. Kissing him was so delightful that Roger almost let go of his whole plan. Almost.

 

“Rafa, come on, get out of bed” he said breaking the kiss and getting up.

 

Rafa puffed his cheeks like an irritated blowfish. But Roger just stood firm and motioned to the living room of the suite. Rafa grunted, resigned, and jumped from the bed to follow Roger.

 

Roger stood by the set dining room table. “Rogi, what is this?”

 

He winked at Rafa. “Breakfast. Sit down.”

 

Rafa did, he looked quite adorable with his morning hair and his still blurry eyes. He was slowly taking in the food in front of him and a small smile was starting to show up. “So good, Rogi” he said grabbing a bowl and the cereal. Roger ruffled his hair before sitting in front of him. “Oh, I almost forgot, here.” He reached for a teacup and put it right in front of Rafa. Inside were a mini package of Nutella, shaped like a tiny Nutella jar and a red Lindor bonbon.

 

“What is this?” Rafa picked up the mini jar, looking at it like it was something extra-terrestrial.

 

“I’d give you a whole jar, babe. The maxi one but… you said: I dream we don’t get fat. So this is the compromise we both have to make.”

 

Rafa stood looking at him motionless, almost petrified. Roger had expected this to be a romantic moment. He was wrong. But he was wrong plenty when it came to Rafa.

 

Rafa made a motion with his hand, making Roger move the chair back from the table and then the Spaniard straddled him. And Rafa’s heat went all through Roger’s body. And he had to supress a moan. Rafa used his teeth to open the tiny jar and then dipped his finger in to cover it with the chocolate cream. He painted Roger’s lips with it and then, just as Roger was holding his breath, Rafa dug in.

 

Kissing Rafa was glorious, kissing Rafa with Nutella covered lips was filthy. Filthy hot. Roger’s hands went straight to Rafa’s ass and he squeezed, creating the most wonderful friction. A moan escaped from his boyfriend’s lips.

 

Rafa smeared Roger’s lips in Nutella two more times, until there wasn’t any left. Roger felt full and yet starving. He was ravenous for something else.

 

Roger reached for his bonbon. He unwrapped it, letting the red foil fall to the ground before putting the chocolate on Rafa’s mouth. He then leaned in, biting the round chocolate liberating the liquid inside. Rafa moaned. And they kissed again, while sharing the chocolate. It was almost too sweet. Roger felt his throat dry and beg for water. But something else was also begging for attention. He sneaked his hand between their bodies to get to Rafa’s underwear. He reached in and grasped Rafa’s dick. The Spaniard broke the kiss letting his head fall back on a gorgeous silent moan. Roger’s left hand was strong on Rafa’s back, holding him safe, while he beautifully arched in delight. Roger had never seen anything more sublime outside of a tennis court.

 

Rafa swung forward to get another kiss and his own hand found its way into Roger’s underwear. When the hot palm closed around Roger, he gasped for air.

 

“Rafa… Rafa…” Roger was chanting. Like the word was a magic incantation that would bring… “Ah, Rogi”

 

Rafa’s eyes shut and he trembled from completion on top of Roger. The next second Rafa’s lips were on him again. On his face, on his neck, on his ear, while his hand threw him over the cliff.

 

“God...”

 

They were both panting, matching satisfied expressions on their faces. Rafa looked at him in the eye. “Rogi… is this… breakfast of champions?”

 

Three seconds went by until Roger burst laughing. “Oh my god, Rafa. Did you just make a sex joke?”

 

“Is funny?”, he asked doubtful.

 

And right there, in between his giggles, Roger fell in love for the third time.  

 

***

 

The flight from Toronto to Cincinnati wasn’t even two hours long, but Roger enjoyed them tremendously. Sitting in first class, his legs stretched out, peacefully reading his book, smelling the curls that were resting on his shoulder and stealing glances to the gorgeous man by his side.

 

They are doing it. They are traveling together on the tour.

 

Roger realized that this was the first time he was being gay in public. And he felt a weird instinct to just show it off. He shouldn’t do this. He shouldn’t feel this. He’d been gay for two minutes. He didn’t even know if he was really homosexual or bisexual, or he just happened to be specifically rafasexual. But he felt, within, a deep pride and also an imperious need to prove to strangers that what he had with Rafa was beautiful and true.

 

He couldn’t really do any of that, of course. His agent, and Rafa’s agent, and Rafa’s uncle for that matter, had all made it clear. Roger and Rafa wanted this? It was insane but, whatever, fine. It had to stay behind closed doors though. There was too much at stake. Roger knew that much. He had always known that much. Because if roughly fifteen percent of the world’s population was gay, that meant fifteen percent of the guys on the ATP tour were gay. So, where were they? Roger had heard rumours here and there, like everyone had, but never something blatant enough that made it impossible for him to ignore it. Don’t ask, don’t tell, right? It was painful to think that was the way things were. It was even more painful to admit that him, living in his perfectly straight bubble, had never spared a thought at what would someone gay had to sacrifice in order to follow their dreams.

 

He was sure that he would find out, though. Because he had dreams he was not letting go of. But he was also not letting go of Rafa.

 

So, they would play the game. After all, there was no one better at that than them.

 

And the game had some rules.

 

During tournaments they would stay apart on nights before matches. But they would always meet for breakfast at one of their rooms.

When they had matches, they wouldn’t see each other until the team meetings, the pressers and the recovery were done. And never before that.

In the locker room and around the club, they would act friendly, like they always had. But, of course, not friendly enough to raise eyebrows.

 

It was not ideal, but it was necessary. Just like the ice baths.

 

Roger had intended to follow the rules. He truly had. But then Rafa had retired halfway through his first match of the tournament. So he Roger stampeded his way through Rafa’s room.

 

Rafa Maymó, the physio, opened the door. He frowned at Roger, but didn’t growl at him, which he was sure Toni would have, so Roger considered himself lucky and quickly snuck in the room.

 

“Roger, you cannot be here. You know this” said the uncle when he saw him.

 

Most people on tour found Toni Nadal intimidating, also quite fascinating. His quiet but strong demeanour left an impression. Also, he was the silent shadow that had produced the beast, Rafael Nadal. Roger used to tense around him, always feeling like the man was seizing him up, which he probably was. Now… Now Toni Nadal knew Roger did dirty things to his beloved nephew and yet Roger was still alive. So he felt empowered by that. Toni, however begrudgingly, had accepted Roger as part of Rafa’s life. And that was big. He almost wanted to carry a diploma around with Toni Nadal’s seal of approval.

 

“This is not normal circumstances, Toni, you realize…”

 

The man looked unimpressed. “But you don’t realize. It’s Rafael. Injury is not new. Injury is very normal.”

 

Roger felt his anger boiling up, but he tried to sound collected. “Okay, Toni. Maybe you’re right. But I will not accept that. I will not stay away if he is injured, that is not normal to me. I’ve waited until you came back to the hotel, and I was careful on the way here. So, I’ve done quite enough I think.” He walked passed him trying to the to the double doors that separated the bedroom from the rest of the suite. “Now, with your permission, I’m going to see my boyfriend.”

 

He didn’t wait for Toni’s reply, he just got to those doors and knocked.

 

“He dit que no tenc gana!” Rafa yelled from the inside.

 

“It’s me, Raf.”

 

He heard quick steps and then the doors opened. A hand pulled at his shirt and dragged him into the bedroom. The doors closed and a second later he had an armful of Spaniard. Rafa’s head went immediately to the space between Roger’s neck and shoulder. It was his favourite place, or so Rafa liked to claim. Roger hugged him hard.

 

“Baby, how are you? Really?”

 

Rafa sighed.

 

“I’m… strange. I hurt but also… too many feelings. I’m angry because I had to retire. I hate retire. I’m worried, that injury will be bad… They say no, but… sometimes they say no and is yes.” His lips forming words on Roger’s skin were sending goose bumps throughout his body. “Roger… But… biggest thing is… Pico.” Rafa moved his head to look at Roger in the eye. He looked devastated. And Roger wondered what did Juan Mónaco have to do with Rafa’s injury besides being on the other side of the net when Rafa had retired. “He is my very good friend, no? Many years. He train in Barcelona when young. We train together a lot when kids. And when on tour always together. We go pro same time. So… he very special. We always close. We tell everything. No secrets. So…”

 

Rafa swallowed. And Roger felt himself doing the same. “I… I tell. I say: Piquito, I’m so happy. Boy that I like, likes me. I have a… boyfriend.” Roger caught a sigh leaving his mouth. He hugged Rafa closer. “He didn’t say anything bad… but he looked… he looked like he didn’t like. It make me very sad.”

 

“Oh, Rafa...”

 

Rafa looked at him with a determined look on his face. “I need two things, Rogi.”

 

“Whatever you need, baby.”

 

“Tonight, I need you to hug me. And tomorrow, I need you to win.” Roger’s breath hitched. “We… not wrong. We champions. We are champions. I’m out of tournament. So you win. Because… we are the same as the others.”

 

Roger pressed his teeth together. “No, Rafa. We’re nothing like the others. We are so much better. They are good, even brilliant tennis players, but we are geniuses, we make history, we are legends.”

 

A tiny smiled surfaced on that lovely tanned face at the same time as a lovely blush covered his cheeks. Rafa bit his lip. “Toni… will be angry if he hears I say this… So just tonight only, I say yes, Rogi. We are great.”

 

Roger shook his head “We are the greatest.”

 

“Federer and Nadal” whispered Rafa. Roger kissed him. “Federer and Nadal” he repeated to his lips.

 

They dropped on the bed without letting go of each other. And they fell asleep like that.

 

The next morning, when Roger showed Rafa the tiny Nutella jar and the Lindt chocolate from his pocket, Rafa smiled so bright, he knew they would be alright.

 

And Roger would do what Rafa asked, he would win.

 

And he did win.

 

***

 

It had sucked that Rafa was out of the tournament so soon because he had to move onto the next city while Roger had had to stay behind. Roger understood that was something that would happen again. They usually got far in tournaments, but not always, they were human after all. So they needed to learn to be apart, just like they had been learning to be together. Yet Roger felt the first thing was going to be harder than the second. Rafa was a walking inferno that moved like hurricane and slept like a starfish, but Roger found himself missing Rafa’s rolls of tape and bags of cookies scattered everywhere, the heat he exuded as he moved and all the space he took in the bed.  

 

So, when all was said and done in Cincy, and Roger had the weird crystal trophy under his arm, he rushed to New York as fast as possible, because he couldn’t wait any longer.

 

When he finally got to Rafa’s room, he was hoping the Spaniard would jump into his arms and drown him in kisses. But he found him sitting on the floor, drowning in tears.

 

Roger dropped his bag and went to him. “Baby, what’s wrong?” Rafa looked sad and resigned. “They will not come to watch me in US Open.”

 

Roger swallowed a lump. “Your family?” Rafa nodded and Roger felt the anger boil in his belly. “Why?” Rafa looked to the window. “Remember Toni said he would go to talk with my father?” Roger nodded. “I said no. I said: he is my father, I must say this myself… So I call to tell…”

 

The sentence hanged in the air for a long time. Rafa finally released a painful exhalation. “I know how he feel. I always know. But… I think… maybe if he know son is like that… maybe he see gay is not so bad. Because he love me, no?” Rafa had intended for the question to be rhetorical but it hadn’t sounded like that. Roger put his forehead to his, to try and give him his strength. “I think… I make worse, Roger. I think now he knows I’m gay he hates gays more than before…”

 

He sounded guilty.

 

Roger would bear the tears and the anguish and the sadness, but he would not bear Rafa’s guilt for someonelse’s ignorance and hatred, even if that someone was Rafa’s father. “That is not your fault, Rafa. If your father decides to hate, that’s on him. Not you. That’s what makes him worse, not you. Do you understand me?”

 

Rafa bit his lip. “He is my father.”

 

Roger sighed. “Yes. And you can thank him for giving you life, for raising you, for loving you. But that does not mean that he gets to control you or dictate what’s wrong or right. He is your father. A human father. He is not perfect. He can be wrong.”

 

He cradled Rafa’s face with both of his hands. “You are the kindest, most joyous and beautiful person I have ever met. I see it. And the world sees it. That’s why they love you. Your family will learn to see too.”

 

“You promise?” He asked with the tiniest of voices.

 

“You don’t deserve any less” It wasn’t exactly an answer. But it was the truth.

 

Rafa blinked slowly, a sole tear crossing his left cheek. He put his eyes deeply of Roger’s. “I love you, Roger. I love you so much.”

 

Roger had known this, in a way. Even though the words had not been spoken aloud before. It was insane. They had been together for a month and yet… they had been mentally together for so much longer. Not from that first Miami, but maybe from the second… It didn’t matter really… their fates had intertwined and now even their hearts beat as one.

“I love you too, Rafa. I love you like I’ve never loved before.”

 

***

 

The US Open started today and Roger woke up to an empty bed with a note that said: “Early training, I eat Nutella in silence so Rogi sleep more.” and a loud ringtone blasting from his bedside table.

 

He grabbed his phone, annoyed, but when he saw the name on the display, he immediately sat up.

 

“Mirka? How are you?” He said it so fast, even he had trouble understanding. “Hey. I’m good.”

 

“I’m happy to hear that.” He confessed.

 

“I just wanted to touch base before the tournament. And to wish you luck.” She sounded cool and collected but completely honest. She sounded like Mirka. Roger was so moved. “Thank you. It means a lot.”

 

He could feel something building at the other end of the line, so Roger braced himself. “Also, I wanted to know how is your I’m-gay-crisis going. Did you get tickets to see Cher yet?” Roger laughed wholeheartedly. “Funny! I actually like Cher quite a lot.” He felt himself fidget. “And… it’s going… it’s going really well.”

 

“Oh, is it?” She was teasing him, which made him incredibly happy.

 

“Yeah.” He sighed, dreamily. He probably sounded pathetic. He didn’t care. “And, how are you?”

 

“I’m good. I’m in Brazil now. I met this guy called Paolo. He’s a tour guide. He keeps writing me poetry.” Mirka said nonchalantly.

 

“Is it any good?”

 

“It’s terrible. But he makes up for it with other things.” Roger was happy to hear that. He was actually just happy to hear Mirka. He had missed her. A lot. “I missed you, Mirka” He ended up saying without realizing. A silence followed, but it was an uncomfortable one.

 

“Are you happy, Roger?” She finally said.

 

Roger sighed, again. “I am. And you?”

 

“I’m enjoying life. I hadn’t realized how much I hadn’t enjoyed. So I’m actually okay.” She sounded clam and content. And Roger was elated to hear that. “But enough about boring stuff. Roger, tell me about gay sex.”

 

But then again, some things about Mirka he didn’t miss. “I’m hanging out.”

 

“Chicken!”

 

He hanged up. His smile didn’t leave him for the rest of the morning.

 

***

His parents had also arrived in New York, so Roger had arranged for them to be picked up at the airport and then he took them out to lunch. They went to a fancy bistro that had nice and private tables.

 

“So… how is everything?” asked his mother while they waited for the starters.  

 

He took a deep breath. “Well, so… first of all, Rafa and I are together now.”

 

“Oh, that’s wonderful, darling.” His mother looked genuinely pleased. “Are you happy?” It was the second time Roger heard that question that day, answering was as easy as the first time. “Very.”

 

“That’s good” said his father.

 

A cloud crossed his face. “Yeah, but… it’s a bit complicated… his family… they don’t approve.”

 

“Of you?” His mom sounded offended and Roger smiled despite the sadness of the issue. “No, well… not me in particular… For what I’ve gathered, they don’t like gay people.”

 

“Oh, poor Rafa…” sighed his mother. His father had a sober expression. “Do you think they will come around?”

 

Roger thought of Rafa’s tears from their first night in New York. “I hope so. But for now, they are… being… difficult.” It was hard not to spit out the numerous curse words that came to mind, but he knew that his parents would not appreciate them. He played with his napkin for something to do. “They are not coming to support Rafa.”

 

“But it’s a Grand Slam!” screeched her mother, completely indignant.

 

Roger shrugged, he didn’t know what else to say.

 

“Roger, call Rafa” said his dad. “Now?” Roger raised an eyebrow and his dad nodded. Roger did as he was told. After the second ring, Rafa picked up. “Hola, Roger. You finish lunch already? So early!”

 

“Er… no. We are still waiting for the food”, he explained. “Oh, okay.” The silence was long and awkward and then his dad motioned for Roger to give him the phone. Roger bit his lip. “Raf, my dad wants to talk to you.”

 

“What?”

 

Rather than answer, Roger put his phone forward. His dad picked it up. “Rafa. This is Robert Federer.”

 

Rafa said something but Roger could obviously not hear it. “I want to thank you for taking care of Roger. He looks very happy. And I’m glad.” Roger felt a heavy lump in his throat and his eyes prickling a bit. His father must have seen it because he put a strong hand on his shoulder. “I know it’s not the same, but I want you to know that we will come to cheer for you, okay?” Roger felt a couple of tears fall, he wiped them out of his face with the napkin quickly. “But not when you play Roger, you understand, of course.”

 

Roger’s laugh was wet. He looked at his parents. He was truly, truly lucky.

 

An unsuspecting camera caught Roger’s parents at Rafa’s first round match against Jones. They were not sitting in his box but were still very obviously cheering for Rafa. No one brought it up in the presser, thankfully. By the second round, cameras were looking like hawks for them. And they found them. Rafa was asked about it after the match. He smiled bright and said: “They see Roger’s amazing tennis every day so I very honoured they like my tennis too, no? Big honour.” Roger cried again when he saw it. That night, the four of them had dinner in Roger’s suite. His dad and Rafa were enthralled in a deep conversation about Rafa’s game. Lynette looking on with little grin. Roger felt so full of pride and happiness he thought he would burst.  

 

***

 

He burst though, when Rafa lost in the fourth round.

 

Roger was sad about it because Rafa had reached the quarters the year before, so he had hoped this time Rafa would go the distance on the hardcourt Slam.  But, at the same time, Rafa had just had to retire from Cincy so fourth round at the US Open a week later, was nothing to sneeze at.

 

Still, Roger was ready to cheer and comfort his boyfriend. He was sitting on the bed, back to the headboard, reading while Rafa showered. He had showered at the club after the match but insisted on showering again when he got to their shared room. Roger assumed it was a way to get a bit of time to himself to shake the loss off his body. That was something Roger did sometimes too.

 

When Rafa finally emerged from the bathroom, he was wearing a fluffy white bathrobe that did wonders displaying his legs and chest. Roger swallowed, now was not the time to think about Rafa’s delectable body. Now was the time to be a supportive boyfriend. Which he intended to be.

 

Rafa smiled sweetly at him as he let himself flop into the bed, face down. He put his chin in between his hands and looked at Roger like he had hung the moon. “Rogi.”

 

“Yes, baby?” Roger smiled at him. “I want to do something”, said Rafa. Roger dropped his book at once, he knew this tone well. “Oh, yeah?” Rafa nodded and Roger tried very hard not to get too excited. He had read Rafa wrong quite a few times before…

 

 “Oh, yeah” Rafa repeated with a voice that was melted chocolate.

 

“What?” Rafa bit his lip. “I want you to play… with this.” He pointed at his ass like he was pointing at something from a store. “Do you want to?” Rafa continued, unsure.

 

Roger’s brain melted while screaming: “Do I want to plough the best ass in the history of tennis? Let me think about that one for a second.”

 

But, he stopped his stupid brain, because, by now, Roger knew Rafa enough to know when to sarcastically joke and when to be serious. He didn’t want to spoil the mood by saying something that would make Rafa hide in the bathroom or under the bed for an hour. He wanted… other things.

 

He cleared his throat “Sure. I’d like to.” Rafa wet his lips.

 

Roger reached out and started caress Rafa’s ass over the fluffy fabric. It was a thing of beauty, sculped by the gods. “Have you ever done this yourself?” He found himself saying.

 

He regretted the second the words came out. Rafa would surely ran away embarrassed now.

 

“Of course” said his lover like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

 

His brain melted again, this time into a bunch of sinful images. “Shit, really?”

 

Rafa turned his head around to look at Roger with full condescension. “Stupid Roger. I’m young gay man. Do you think I dream about Rogi fucking me but then don’t try to see if I like?”

Roger’s throat went completely dry. “And… you like?”

 

Rafa smirked, the right corner of his lip raising slightly higher than the left one. “I like. But I’m sure with Rogi… I will like more.”

 

“Take it off.” Roger ordered Rafa pointing at the bathrobe. Rafa rose up to do it. The white heavy fabric fell next to the bed and then Rafa was gloriously naked. Roger had never been crazy about backdoor stuff. He had tried it, but he didn’t really see the appeal… until the ass in question was Rafa’s.

 

He took Rafa into his arms and kissed him until they were both dizzy from oxygen deprivation. All the while Roger’s hands were traveling Rafa’s tanned skin, touching every corner, making Rafa create the most beautiful sounds. Finally, his hands gripped those wonderful globes and Roger felt a gush of arousal that ignited his whole body.  

 

“Raf… you have…” Rafa nodded while reaching out under the pillow. He then passed the bottle of lube to Roger. He blinked looking at the bottle. “How long has that been there?”

 

Rafa winked at him. “I bring from bathroom when I prepare myself…”

 

“Prepare yourself?” Roger probably sounded stupid, but he wasn’t coherent enough to notice. Rafa licked his lips. “Prepare myself for Rogi, of course.”

 

Roger grabbed Rafa and flopped him around on the bed. Roger then stood on top of him and started covering his gorgeous back with kisses. “Shit, Rafa. You will kill me one of these days.”

 

“You will not die, Roger” he said while slowly opening his legs, Roger couldn’t look away. “You wanna bet?”

 

Rafa turned his head around to look at Roger. “No, I wanna you start touching me now.”

 

Roger would have laughed at the comeback had he not been so horny. Instead, he popped the bottle open and drenched his fingers. He then started caressing around Rafa’s entrance, teasing, feeling, trying… A part of his brain was waiting for a full freak-out. But no. This not only felt natural to Roger, it felt fucking good. Because, under him, Rafa was wiggling and breathing hard and Roger was the powerful being that was causing that.

 

After a little while, he finally broke the barrier and slipped a finger in. He kept saying Rafa was hot, he kept feeling his heat, that was nothing new, but it was also nothing like what it felt like inside of Rafa.

“Ah, Rogi, ah.”

 

Shit. He started moving his finger, cataloguing Rafa’s every response. He soon added another one and Rafa’s hips started to move in synch. “Baby, you are so hot. You can’t even imagine. You like it?”

 

Rafa was biting at his own hand. “Yes, Roger, so good. I like so much…. More, Roger.”

 

He sneaked a third finger and picked up the pace of his movements. Rafa’s hips rose from the bed. “Ah! Casi, Roger, casi!” Roger didn’t understand but on his next push he felt something tiny and different inside of Rafa. He brushed it with his fingertips and Rafa froze.

 

“Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah” Rafa’s back arched and it was the most sensual thing Roger had ever seen in his life. “Yes, that, Roger, that.”

 

Roger had felt powerful before. He felt powerful when he won his first Slam. He felt powerful when he became number one. He felt powerful after defeating Rafa in a five-set match. But he had never felt powerful like this: Ruling Rafa’s indomitable body, making him scream in pleasure.

 

Rafa shuddered, letting out a long soft cry. “Close, Rogi…”

 

Roger picked up speed and made sure to angle his fingers to get to that special place.

 

“Rog─” Rafa came. And Roger felt like a god. He crawled up Rafa’s body to get to his lips. Rafa kissed him violently, like he was dying of dehydration and Roger was a well of fresh cool water.

 

But Roger was anything but cool. He broke the kiss.   

 

“Roger?” said Rafa still panting. Roger bit his shoulder. “Raf, it may be weird but… I really want to…” Rafa turned slightly around to look at him. His face was flushed, his eyes were glazy, his lips were moist. Shit. “Put your legs together, Raf, I want to fuck your thighs.”

 

Rafa bit his lip before doing as he was told. Roger stood up enough to rile his shirt up and open his trousers. He then descended and positioned himself on top of Rafa. He grabbed his ass cheeks and pressed his aching cock in the space between them. Rafa trembled and Roger felt that tremor directly on his sensitive skin. He couldn’t take it anymore. He pushed his cock in the space between Rafa’s thighs. He felt his testicles and his dick. And that’s when Roger lost it. His hips started moving at a punishing rhythm, Rafa’s skin surrounding him, liquid noises filling the room and, above all, Roger’s own moans.

 

“Fuck, Rafa, so good. You’re so good. So beautiful. God, you make me crazy.”

 

“So good, Rogi. I like. Please more, push in me more. I want to feel. I want to feel you. Please, Roger.”

 

And Roger did as he was told.

 

He started seeing white stars in the corners of his eyes. He felt his orgasm starting to build, fast. “Rafa, fuck, I’m gonna cum.”

 

“Yes, Roger, please, come. I like a lot. Please, come on me.” That did it.

 

Roger’s orgasm was long, and it came in three waves. He felt his wetness on Rafa’s skin and he then fell on top of him.

 

Rafa turned them around and they kissed lazily while softly caressing each other. “Was that okay?” asked Roger with a tone that was more breathless than anything else.

 

Rafa rose an eyebrow. “What you think?”

 

Roger felt a grin coming. “I think I liked playing with this” he said softly dropping a hand on Rafa’s ass. Rafa giggled.  

 

After a while, they dragged themselves to the shower where Roger insisted in washing Rafa’s hair.

 

“Roger, I want to say something” he said with such a serious tone that Roger’s fingers stopped moving on Rafa’s scalp.

 

“I know I lose but want to stay with you. I want to stay and watch you win your Slam number twelve.” Roger held his breath. “But, I have to go home. I have to face family.”

“Rafa…”

 

Rafa turned around and hugged him. “It’s been dream, this. Be with you. Have Robert and Lynette support me. It’s been unbelievable but… I must face family in person and explain in person.”

 

Roger didn’t have anything to refute that with, so he went with honesty. “I know… but… I’m scared for you. I don’t want them to hurt you.”

 

Rafa looked at him then in that way that made him look so much older than he was. So much wiser. “Family is family, Roger. They can say awful things, they can be angry, the can scream, but they will not hurt me, Roger. I’m son of them.”

 

Roger wanted to say that words and screams were also a weapon that caused pain, but he refrained. Because he knew Rafa was aware of that. He also knew that Rafa would take that pain with pride. Because there was human strength in this world and then there was Rafa Nadal strength.

 

“I’m with you for anything you need.” Rafa nodded.  

 

The water started to get cold breaking up the sacred moment. “Maybe I won’t win.” Roger heard himself say.

 

“You will.” Rafa replied.

 

“How can you be so sure?”

 

Then a wicked smile adorned that sun-kissed face. “Because I tell you to win. And you do what I tell you.” 

 

And Roger fell in love for the fourth time. At the feet of the strongest and bravest man he had ever known. And he thought: How did I get so lucky?

 

***

 

“ROGER!” Rafa yelled at him through the phone.

 

Roger smiled despite the ringing in his right ear. “Hi, Raf. How are you?”

 

“Rogi, I got your package!”

 

There was a huge smile in Rafa’s voice and Roger felt heart swell. “Oh, yeah?”

 

“Yes! So many mini bottles of Nutella! I have breakfast for six months.”

 

He sounded as excited as a teenager with his first car. It was only Nutella. Roger bit his lip. “That’s all you got in the package?”

 

There was a tiny silence and then. “Noooooooooooo…” It was slow and playful and cute and sexy as hell. Christ, it had only been a couple of days since Rafa had left for Mallorca, but Roger missed him already.

 

“No?” He played along. “No. I also get nice frame with photo” Rafa provided.

 

“Is it a nice photo?”

 

Rafa giggled. “Very nice photo. Of my hot sexy elegant boyfriend eating a Lindt bonbon.”

 

Roger hadn’t known embarrassment until he had to ask his agent to please take pictures of him eating chocolate to send his boyfriend. Tony had raised an eyebrow and pushed his lips together, probably to prevent the laughter he was trying to contain, before nodding. It had been the longest fifteen minutes of his life. Between his shame and hilarity of trying to look hot and charming while eating chocolate, it had taken more tries and way more bonbons that Roger would ever admit. But hearing Rafa, made it all been worth it.

 

“Rogi, still here?” Roger shook himself. “Yeah, baby, I’m here.”

 

There was a strange pause. “Roger, I want to ask you… Are making my dreams come true? From that night in Wimbledon?”

 

Roger froze. He hadn’t planned on telling Rafa. He sighed “Yes.”

 

The silence felt long and heavy.

 

“You will make all of them?” Rafa sounded completely incredulous. So much so, that Roger was slightly offended. “Yes.”

 

The second silence felt even longer and even heavier.  

 

 “Roger, some of dreams I say are very far in future.”

 

Oh. Roger was well aware. He smiled, even though he knew Rafa couldn’t see it. “I know.”

 

This time there was no silence. “You make these too?”

 

“Yes. All of them.” He heard Rafa’s breath hitch. “So… you still with me long time?”

 

Roger was not a prophet or a wizard or a pcychic. He couldn’t predict the future and yet, he felt, in his heart, a level of certainty he had rarely felt before. “As long as you want.”

 

“Okay…” Seconds ticked by “I answer how long I want when you finish dreams.”

 

Roger felt his eyebrows knit together. “Rafa, that will take years.”

 

“I know. But you so good with patience” said his boyfriend in a very reassuring voice.

 

“I’m not.”

 

“Yes, you are. My Rogi is good with everything.”

 

He really wasn’t. But, for Rafa? For Rafa he would try.

 

“Okay.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:
> 
> “He dit que no tenc gana!” = "I said I wasn't hungry!"  
> "Casi, Roger, casi." = "Almost, Roger, almost."
> 
> I think because it has been so difficult to finish this chapter that I don't really like it. Hopefully you will. Can you let me know what you think? 
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	5. I dream we play all the finals, all the years, all the Slams...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fifth dream/goal.
> 
> So, Roger doesn't have a girlfriend and likes a guy from Mallorca and they travel together on the tour and they have breakfast together every day. Roger has Lindt chocolates and Rafa has Nutella and they don't get fat... But, what happens after that?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shit. That was hard. And I've gone round and round so much with this chapter that I don't even know. It was a critical one because there was quite a lot of time passing... 
> 
> Sorry for taking so long. I will finish this story and I hope the worst of it is behind me. 
> 
> I don't know if you still want to read it, but, in any case, I hope you like it. 
> 
> Also, there's like some angst... but not much. 
> 
> By the way, I'm insanely sleep-deprived because of work and studies so I'm sure the English such in this. If you point out mistakes, I'll correct them! Thanks!!

Roger had been dreaming of the moment when he would be in Mallorca with Rafa. He had missed him so much. In his dreams, they met at the airport and shared a long warm hug. Then, Rafa would drive them to Manacor, and Roger would put his left hand on top of Rafa’s right manning the stick. They would get to Rafa’s house, they would run inside to finally say hello the way they wanted to… with a passionate kiss.

 

This was not his dream.

 

His dream was not Rafa’s father looking at him with a mixture of stupefaction and disgust, hairy eyebrows frowned, lips pursed, and arms crossed, while Rafa’s mother quietly sobbed at the end of the sofa. On the other end of the room, Toni stood silently, judging. And his lovely, beloved Rafa, was sitting in a chair in the middle of the room, looking at the floor in shame.

 

Roger wanted to go to him and take him in his arms, but there was a big obstacle on the way.

 

“Roger, think” said Rafa’s father. “You are great player, you have great fame and beautiful girlfriend, you can have everything, don’t throw away for sinful abomination.”

Roger saw red.

 

“Are you talking about your son? Are you really refereeing to your son as an abomination? Because if so, I must tell you, you are very lucky I despise violence, because right now, I want to beat you until I get some sense into you.”

 

But turned out Rafa’s dad was where Rafa got his stubbornness from. The man didn’t move an inch.

 

“It’s dirty… sex among men.”

 

Roger laughed, offensively. He actually tried to be offensive. “Oh! And sex with a woman it’s not? Give me a break!”

 

“Bible says…”

 

Roger wished he had a Bible right now, to knock that man out with. “The Bible was written thousands of years ago. And it also says that it’s a sin to eat shrimp. I guess you’re going to hell too then. But when you do go to hell, don’t worry, it won’t be because of the seafood, it will be mostly for how you treat the blood of your blood.”

 

“Rogi… stop”

 

“And Ana María” He turned to look at the petite blonde woman, “I love your son. Is it really that bad? That I love your son more than anyone? Is it really?”

 

“Is wrong” she whispered.

 

Roger nodded. “That’s what you think. You wanna know what I think is wrong? Punishing your son for something he was born with. Leaving him alone on one of the most important tournaments of the season right after an injury. I think that’s pretty wrong too.”

 

The woman hid her face in shame, there was so much hurt in her expression though that Roger couldn’t not take any satisfaction from it.

 

“Rafael was not sad we didn’t go New York. Your parents be there to cheer him, no?” Rafa’s father huffed in disdain.

 

Roger was always polite. Always. Except when you dared to bring up with family or loved ones. Then Roger was a beast. “You bet your ass, they were. My parents are the kind of people who chooses love over hate.”

 

“Roger. Not more.” The words were low and soft.

 

Rafa rose from his chair and went to exit the room. When he was in the threshold he titled his head to the side. It was only a second, but Roger got it. He was meant to follow. And he did.

 

He crossed looks with Toni and in his dauntless expression there was a tiny dash of resignation. Roger nodded his head.

 

Rafa moved around the house until he finally opened a door at the end of a hallway.

 

“Roger, you cannot talk to my parents that way” he said, his back to Roger.

 

“Rafa…” sighed Roger while closing the door.

 

“No, Roger.” The Spaniard was looking at the window on the side of the room, stubbornly avoiding Roger’s eyes. “You can’t. They are parents. You respect.”

 

Roger felt angry and defeated at the same time. He took two long strides to stand next to Rafa, he also decided to look at the paradisiac landscape behind the glass. “I can respect them, I can even love them for giving you life, Raf. But I can’t sit idol while they torture you.”

 

Rafa finally looked at him. He looked so heartbroken Roger almost wished he hadn’t.

 

“They don’t torture. They never hurt me, Rogi, I promise.”

 

Rafa was pleading and it made what Roger was about to say even harder to utter. “Not physically. And given the chance, I might even think that would be best. You have an amazing tolerance for pain. Physical pain you can endure. But they are hurting you when they reject you. When they punish you for who you are. That causes you pain and you can’t deny you feel it.”

 

Rafa looked at the ground and Roger carefully grabbed his chin to make him look up. “And that I hate. I hate to see you hurt any time… by anything. But it’s so much worse if it’s coming from someone I know you love so much.”

 

Rafa was biting his lip so hard it was white. It was a few seconds away from drawing blood. Roger carefully released it. “Rafa. I love you. You are perfect, just like you are. And I want you to be happy every day of your life.”

 

“That is not possible, Roger” said Rafa, sadly.

 

Roger smiled, a bitter smile and held Rafa’s face with both hands. “I know, I know. Life is complicated, and we have chosen a path that complicates it even more. I know. I know all of this. But the pain that comes, that pain we’ll have to take… I don’t want it to come from inside.” Rafa looked confused and Roger pecked him quickly on the lips. “I’ve known you for a while and I feel I know you more and more every day…” Rafa averted his eyes, but Roger had to push through. “And my fear with this situation is that… you may blame yourself for it.”

 

Rafa shook his head. “I… don’t.”

 

Roger sighed. “Don’t you? When you see your mother cry and your dad angry…”

 

“Is not same… I feel bad they have… difficult because… of me.”

 

Roger closed his eyes for a second to gather himself. “That’s exactly what I’m saying, Raf. I don’t think your parents are bad people. In fact, I know they are not. I’ve met them before. They are very nice. But what they think and what they are doing now is wrong and harmful to you.”

 

“Roger… you don’t understand. They… different time. More… tradition. They can’t just think gay is okay if always gay is wrong, no?”

 

“No. You are right. They can’t just change their minds from one day to the next, but you’re their son so they should be willing to try to understand. And they are not. And that is bad, Raf. They are doing bad there.”

 

Roger got ready for the comeback, but there was none. Instead, Rafa leaned in until he put his head in between Roger’s neck and his shoulder. In this favourite place. Roger hugged him tight. And they stayed like that.

 

For a long, long time.

 

***

 

The rest of the season went by in a blur. He played Madrid, and so did Rafa. Nalbandian took Rafa out in the quarters and him in the final. That stung quite a bit. David was his number one rival from juniors where the Argentine had more often than not gotten the better of him, but since going into the ATP Tour Roger had dominated him. He then went to play Basel, because of course he had to (Rafa went too, to stay with him). And after, they travelled to Paris where they had an insane déjà vu. Nalbandian took him out in the third round and defeated Rafa in the final. That was the last straw for Roger, so he barrelled through in the Masters Cup to win it. He even barrelled through Rafa in the semis. In straights.

 

Roger was surprised how in the zone he had been for that match, especially because Rafa in that sweaty and tight blue sleeveless shirt was evil incarnated.

When Roger got to the net, he met with Rafa’s huge grin. He padded him on the back intending to let go after a couple of taps but his hand decided to stay there all the way to the umpire’s chair. He felt Rafa lean into his touch and his head lightly dropped towards him and Roger had to stop himself from kissing him then and there.

 

But he held on.

 

He held on for the few hours he had until they were able to reunite in Rafa’s suite. They ate room service sprawled on the sofa, watching the day’s replay. Rafa’s feet were tangled with his and the places where their skin touched were warm and comforting.

 

“Hey, Rogi…”

 

Roger kept his eyes on the screen where Ferrer was dominating Andy Roddick like it was a piece of cake. “Mmm...”

 

“Will you make love with me tonight?”

 

Roger forgot about David Ferrer. And he looked at Rafa.

 

Right.

 

They still hadn’t done… that.

 

It was the final barrier. The last frontier.

 

The step that would make Roger truly and completely gay.

 

Rationally, he knew that was stupid reasoning. He may not have put his dick on Rafa’s body, but he had had Rafa’s in his mouth. And he had liked it.

 

He liked everything he did with Rafa. A lot.

 

He loved Rafa and he also very obviously desired him. He actually had never wanted anyone as much as he wanted Rafa. They had done lots of things, lots of times, and he had enjoyed it all so much.

 

But that… That they hadn’t done yet.

 

There had been chances… But somehow, he didn’t take them.

 

During the summer, when they had gotten together, Roger had found that his emotions were running high and his hormones wild. He had thrown himself into it. He had dived into the fiery pit that was Rafa’s body and he had discovered… a lot.

 

He had realized how different men and women’s bodies were. He had learned how much he loved to feel powerful thighs surrounding him. He had realized he lived for the moment of completion in Rafa’s face. He had also observed that he liked a strong body, all of it. He liked to touch it, taste it, own it.

 

And, yet, he had always found a way to avoid that final step. That last straw… the end of the rope…  And that confused him. He really didn’t know why he kept doing that…

 

“Ehm…” was all that came out of his mouth.

 

Rafa just smiled at him and rose a bit to give a quick kiss. His eyes were also twitching a bit, like he knew something Roger didn’t.

 

Rafa sat back and started playing lightly with the hairs on Roger’s arms, sending shivers to his spine. “It’s okay, Rogi. I was waiting for moment like this.”

 

Roger blinked, half focused on the touches on his arm, half on Rafa’s words. “What are you talking about?”

 

Rafa looked at him sweetly. Sweetly and wisely. For a moment, Roger felt like he was the young inexperienced one. He frowned at Rafa, confused.

 

“Well…” said his boyfriend, “I know people say Spanish people don’t think and only impulse and Swiss more calm and cold but… It’s opposite with us. I am calm and you are so excited. I wait for moment you have oh-my-god-I’m-crazy-for-doing-gay-things shock.”

 

“You… what?” Roger was truly and royally lost. Rafa just shrugged his shoulders.

 

“Roger… you decide so fast you want me… I don’t think you wait and think: Rafa is a man, it’s going to be different relationship.”

 

“That didn’t matter to me” Roger defended.

 

Rafa smiled at him and softly caressed his cheek.

 

“I know. I know you no care. And I love you before, I love you every day but… you no care… makes me love you more still.”

 

Roger felt a soft warmth spread around him and turned into a smile.

 

But Rafa then made his resigned Rafa face. “But… I know is too good to be so easy, no? I know one day you stop and think and have crazy moment. So is okay, Rogi. I’m ready.”

 

“Ready for what exactly?” asked Roger.

 

Rafa rolled his eyes. “Ready for you to have crazy moment and say: Oh, no. I love man, I am gay now. I different man now. I have to put dick in ass for sex now.”

 

Roger burst into laughs out of pure disbelief upon hearing Rafa sing-sang about gay sex. Rafa laughed too and with those sounds the tension in Roger evaporated. He gathered Rafa in his arms, hugging him tight.

 

“Rafa… I guess… you’re a bit right.” He felt him tense his back muscles, so he started caressing him there softly. “But, it’s not a gay crisis and I’m not changing my mind. You’re right though, I did jump into it our relationship without a second thought. It’s a bit insane if you think about it… One day you were my biggest rival and one of my closest friends on tour and the next I loved you… It’s crazy.”

 

Rafa nodded against his shoulder.

 

“Although it wasn’t really like that” Roger continued, “I loved you before that night. I loved you, but I didn’t know. I didn’t know that was the pull I felt towards you and I didn’t know we could have more than we had… But when I did… when you opened that door, then I wanted it all. I wanted it all right then and there.”

 

“For sure?” asked Rafa nervously.

 

Roger smiled, seeing that expression, suddenly erased every doubt from his mind. “For sure, Rafa.”

 

He leaned in to kiss Rafa’s lips. Short and sweet, full of meaning. Rafa sighed on his mouth until he separated his lips to whisper something.

 

“Then prove is like that, Roger.”

 

“Okay” he replied.

 

That night Roger crossed the border, took the last step, dived into the unknown. And, well, turned out, anal sex was pretty fucking spectacular.

 

***

 

2008 was the year that he would remember forever.

He started contracting the mono which sucked the life out of him. He lost to Novak in the semis of the Australian Open, making that the first time in ten slams that he didn’t make the final. People started whispering about the changing of the guard, but he brushed them aside.

Miami sucked too. His body was really not responding. The illness really taking a toll on his stamina. It was okay. He could come back from this.

 

The problem was that by the time his body was ready, the hardcourts were done, and it was time for clay. And even at his best, Roger had a major hurdle on clay. He had to face his boyfriend there. And Rafa… Rafa was honestly playing amazing tennis.

 

So Roger braced himself but still…

 

Roland Garros hurt like a bitch.

 

But he decided to rationalize it. Rafa was unparalleled on clay, everyone knew that.  Roger was technically better than Rafa. He had a better serve, a better backhand and arguably a better forehand, even if his didn’t have Rafa’s insane top spin. He also had better touch and moved better at the net. Roger knew all of this, but it didn’t help much on clay. On clay, everything slowed down, everything but Rafa. There wasn’t a shot a too fast or too far for Rafa to get to. Roger knew this. So, he had gone to the final at Philippe Chartier thinking that he had a very tough battle ahead of him, secretly hoping that Rafa would have an off day, so Roger could try to use his superior skills to match the Spaniard’s homecourt advantage. But Rafa didn’t have an off day, Rafa had Heaven sent day.

 

Roger was demolished.

 

Plain and simple. Hard and fast. On straight sets. But after, rewatching the match, he saw. Nobody on this planet would have been able to touch Rafa that day, not even the World Number One. So he put that behind him. You can’t win them all, even if you’re Roger Federer.

 

But with the end of Roland Garros came a beginning. The beginning of grass season. And Roger was glad. Grass, that warm old friend that would always welcome him and make him feel at home, at ease, in control.

Grass was Roger’s homecourt advantage and Roger was planning to use it. He had analysed and processed his Roland Garros debacle, he was fine with it, but he would be even better when he took his sixth golden cup of the Championships in a row. He would do it.

 

But he didn’t.

 

He played the best tennis of his life and still he didn’t get it.

 

Rafa got it.

 

In the London twilight with a million flashes going off and Rafa falling to his back on the dead grass by the service line, his boyfriend won the match and got the crown.

 

Rafa had also officially ceased to be a one trick pony. Who would dare to say now that Rafa was only a champion on clay?

 

Roger was split. He was very sad. But he was also proud of Rafa. He really was but still… he wanted Wimbledon to keep being his… And now it wasn’t anymore…

 

***

 

The next night he found himself on a balcony, staring at the English night.

 

“It’s one year today” he said out of the blue. “One year since the night my life changed forever.”

 

“I still cannot believe” said Rafa leaning his head on Roger’s shoulder.

 

“That you’ve won Wimbledon?” asked Roger awkwardly.

 

Rafa turned his head slightly so he could point his huge brown eyes straight to Roger’s. He had a big and smile on. “No. I still cannot believe that night happen. I still cannot believe I said so many things. I was so embarrassed that night I no sleep.”

 

Roger smiled. “Really?”

 

Rafa nodded. “Toni so angry in the morning. He look at me and say: you have _resaca,_ Rafael?”

 

“What’s _resaca_?”

 

Rafa started moving his hands. “You know, when you drink lot of alcohol and next day your head hurt so much and your stomach hurt so much and you feel so bad.”

 

“Oh! Hangover.” Roger realized. “And what did you say?”

 

Rafa blushed.

 

“I say: Yes, Toni, sorry.”

 

Roger blinked.

 

“Why would you say that? You weren’t drunk!”

 

Rafa’s cheeks got even redder.

 

“If I say I no drink. Then he ask: Why you look so tired? And thenI say: I no sleep. He ask why. And I couldn’t say why.”

 

Roger laughed because after a year of relationship he was beginning to understand the Toni and Rafa family dynamics, crazy as they were.

 

“What happened?” he added curiously.

 

“He make me clean his house and also prepare all the tennis courts of our club every day for one month.”

 

“Sorry.”

 

“It was worth.” Rafa smiled.

 

“Yeah?”

 

Rafa nodded. “Yeah.”

 

Roger should leave it at that. But he couldn’t.

 

“Are you sure? Even if… your dad did not come to see you win Wimbledon?”

 

Rafa sighed, but he kept looking calm.

 

“Is very sad. This was always dream for our family. Because… even in Slams… Wimbledon is… more… is Wimbledon, you know?”

 

Roger nodded. God, he did know.

 

“When I was boy and they ask me: what you want when you are professional tennis player? I always say: win Wimbledon. Because Wimbledon is most impossible of all impossible things in professional tennis. So I say this. The more difficult one. And my family…” he smiled a soft sweet smile, “They always laugh but they start to say too. ‘Rafael, you have to train if you wanna win Wimbledon.’ ‘When Rafael win Wimbledon we all go celebrate in Big Ben.’ Things like that… We always laugh. But… for me, inside… it’s always very important they say this.”

 

Roger tangled his fingers in Rafa’s curls.

 

“I’m sorry, Rafa.”

 

Rafa, still smiling, shook his head.

 

“I am not, Roger. Wimbledon was impossible dream. And now is true. That is too much good thing already. And how it happen? Too good. You and me, we play five sets, longest match ever in Grand Slam. Most difficult match I ever play. Is really too good, Roger. So, I don’t think it can be perfect-perfect, you know?”

 

Roger bit his lip. He would have wanted it to be perfect-perfect for Rafa. If it wasn’t going to be his anyway… might as well be as good as it could be for his lover…

 

“Also… I always know, Roger… I always know my parents would be this way with gay thing. I always know something like this happen. So… it is okay. And… my mother and sister come watch. That is a lot for me. And a lot for them. I think… I’m sad… But I’m okay. It is better now than before. I hope more time… more better, you know?”

 

Roger smiled. He could only thank the stars that Maribel had decided to stick by Rafa and that Rafa’s mom, although still very uncomfortable and unwilling to acknowledge Roger, had decided to come to cheer for her son, even if her husband had completely refused to do so.

 

“And…” Rafa added. His voice charged with something Roger couldn’t quite pinpoint. He looked down at him and saw a fiery twinkle in his eye. “And… even if I think I maybe can get Wimbledon one day… I never dream I get most hot best player on tour to be my boyfriend.”

 

Roger chuckled. “Well… but it was a dream you had, right?” Rafa cheeks grew red.

 

He then left the wall they were both leaning on and stood in front of Roger. He put his hands on the hem of his shirt and took it off. Roger’s breath got caught in his chest. Rafa then kicked his shoes and socks off. And finally, he dropped his trousers and underwear, standing gloriously naked in front of Roger in the middle of Roger’s private balcony.

 

“Rafa?”

 

Rafa smiled, biting his lip.

 

“I know I’m not the cup, but I’m your trophy tonight. You win me Roger, what you want?

 

Roger stood up and took the two steps it took to clash his body with Rafa’s. He put his arms around him and held him as hard as he could.

 

“I want to never let you go, Rafa.”

 

“Okay” whispered Rafa with a strangled breath.

 

Roger’s arms descended through Rafa’s back until they were below his ass. Then he pulled up, making Rafa’s feet leave the ground. Rafa put his hands firmly on Roger’s shoulders, looking for support, and Roger started walking towards the room.

 

Rafa weighted a bit more than him and still, in that moment, to Roger, he was light as a feather.

Roger walked slowly through the room until he got to the large king bed. He advanced until his knees touched the silky sheets and then he just let Rafa fall on it.

 

“Rogi!” complained Rafa.

 

But Roger didn’t reply. He was too busy shedding his own clothes. In the blink of an eye he was naked too. He looked at Rafa who was staring at him with complete heat and adoration.

 

“You look at me like I’m something… I don’t know” said Roger.

 

Rafa smiled.

 

“I look like you’re perfect. Because you are.”

 

Roger laughed, but his heart filled. “You are so corny.”

 

“Yes, Rogi. And you like.”

 

Roger dropped himself on top of Rafa.

 

“Yeah, I like.”

 

He then took his lips in a powerful kiss. “But I also like how filthy you can be.”

 

Rafa looked at him with hooded eyes, his expression doing nothing to refute Roger’s statement. “Open your legs baby, I want to get you ready.”

 

Rafa spread his legs, shamelessly, while his right hand moved around the bedside table. He put something by Roger’s hand. A plastic square foil and a bottle. Roger didn’t waste a second and soaked his fingers in lube to direct them to Rafa’s entrance.

 

He had come a long way since taking that step during the Masters Cup. He lived for his physical intimacy with Rafa. But, beyond that, he genuinely enjoyed playing with Rafa’s ass. Some nights, when they had time, Roger would spend as long as he could driving Rafa insane with his fingers or his mouth. He revelled on watching him moan and squirm under him. Rafa surrendering all of his power to Roger. And when Rafa was almost mad with pleasure, that was when Roger finally gave in and fucked him seven ways to Sunday.

 

But tonight he couldn’t do that. Tonight he was the one whose insides were drowning with tension and energy. Tonight he couldn’t wait.

 

The first finger made Rafa sigh. The second made him moan. With the third, his legs started shaking. And then, when he found that special place, Rafa actually yelled.

 

“ROGER!” His breathing was laboured, as laboured as it had been yesterday during the fifth set. “Roger, I’m ready. I’m ready!”

 

Roger didn’t really need more of an invitation. He took the fingers out and rolled the condom on. Rafa opened his legs more, offering himself. But Roger had other things in mind. He rolled to the side and then sat on the bed, his back to the headboard, his legs on the mattress.

 

Rafa blinked and Roger licked his lips.

 

“Come here, Raf. I want you to fuck yourself on my cock.”

 

Roger didn’t usually used that kind of language, even if he used in his head all the time, and Rafa’s eyes responded by getting incredibly dark. He nodded before straddling Roger.  Roger held his hips to help Rafa descend on him. Rafa’s mouth was by Roger’s eyes and the heavy sighs he kept releasing felt like small draughts of hot wind.

 

“Dios!” said Rafa when he bottomed out.

 

He stood still for a few moments and then Roger moved forward to lick his neck. “Come on, baby. Move.”

 

Rafa bit lip but nodded. He rose those powerful bronze tights to have them fall down a second later. The pleasure was a white lash inside of Roger. “Fuck.”

 

Rafa then gathered his face to kiss him while slowly starting a maddening rhythm. It was incredibly hot. Roger felt every cell connected to Rafa burn in delight.

 

“You’re so good, Raf.”

 

Rafa looked at him from above his face covered in sweat with a tiny smile dancing on his lips.

 

“I love you so good, Rogi.”

 

Roger’s heart stopped for a second, to then start beating incredibly fast. He grabbed at Rafa’s hips harder to dictate the movement. Rafa threw his head back.

 

“Roger…”

 

“Roge!”

 

“ROGER!!”

 

Roger would never tire of hearing the million ways in which Rafa said his name. “I’m here, Raf.”

 

Soon they both felt the urgency of orgasm and Rafa’s motions sped up. He got a hold of the headboard by Roger’s face to keep himself moving up and down. Roger closed his eyes to let the hurricane of pleasure take him. This was the closest thing to tennis player Rafa Nadal one could get in real life. This was the moment were that intensity and power that were reserved for the court came soaring in real life. This and only this. And Roger and only Roger got to witness that.

 

“I… gonna co─!”

 

Roger leaned forward to get a kiss at that moment, to experience not only Rafa’s muscles strangling him but also to drink his vocal pleasure.

 

Rafa kissed him as best as he could but finally broke apart looking for air like a fish out of water. 

 

“Roger… Roge… Ro─!”

 

Rafa’s voice got cut, like a switch had been turned off, but his eyes closed and his mouth opened on a silent scream. He came all over Roger’s chest. The pure image of pleasure and debauchery. An image that proved to be too much for Roger who moaned his own release. Roger saw stars. And the brightest of them, was the boy in front of him.

 

Rafa’s head fell to Roger’s chest and Roger wrapped his arms around him while they both caught their breath.

 

They stayed like that for a long time. Then Rafa rolled to the side to lie on the bed, eyes closed, skin glistening, satisfaction all around.

 

Roger went to the bathroom to clean himself and then returned to the bed with a wet cloth to clean Rafa. His body had moved into his signature starfish resting position. Roger smiled. Rafa’s eyes were still closed and his breath was even. He was sleeping. Roger cleaned him carefully but thoroughly and then climbed on the bed with him. Roger put an arm and a leg on top of Rafa’s, wrapping himself around his boyfriend. If Rafa was a starfish, Roger seemed to have a proclivity for being an octopus.

 

He sighed. He was so incredibly tired. He wanted to sleep for a thousand years, but, somehow, he felt he couldn’t.

 

“Rafa… I'm scared” whispered Roger because he knew Rafa was asleep. But he felt the Spaniard turn around to face him. It was pitch dark, but Roger could feel Rafa’s eyes on him.

 

“Of what?” said Rafa.

 

Roger debated with himself for a second. He could lie. He could make up a nightmare, or throw in a joke, he could even kiss Rafa to distract him. But the ache in his heart wouldn’t bulge. What they had just done had been wonderful, but he felt horrible, truly horrible, and he felt he would feel even worse when the words left his mouth, but he had to say them.

 

“Of being angry at you…”, he finally uttered. “This year... You're untouchable. I feel like I can't touch you and I feel like I keep falling short… I keep losing to you and… I hate that.”

 

“Oh.” It was a single and simple syllable, but it was charged with a thousand meanings.

 

“Do you wish I hadn't told you?”

 

He felt Rafa’s hands in his hair, slowly combing through the locks.

 

“No, Rogi. Talk to me always, any thing, every thing. Always say.”

 

Roger felt relief extend through his body, from his toes to the roots of his hairs.

 

“Did you ever feel like that?” he asked.

 

There was a soft giggle.

 

“No.”

 

Roger made a face. He wasn’t sure Rafa could see it in the darkness though.

 

“No? Why?” 

 

Rafa moved his head until it rested on Roger’s chest.

 

“Because for me is different.” 

 

“How so?” Roger started drawing invisible lines on Rafa’s back. Something to distract him and

ground him at the same time.

 

“You better player, Roger. Always.”

 

Roger snorted.

 

“You beat me more.” 

 

Rafa nodded against his clavicle. “Yes, because lucky lefty is hard for you. But I know is special every time. I know I have to play amazing and maybe you not play amazing.”

 

Roger took a deep breath.

 

“Rafa, it’s not like that. It was at the beginning, maybe, but not anymore...”

 

Rafa moved until his face was just an inch away from Roger’s. Roger thought Rafa wanted to make sure Roger could see his serious expression, despite the darkness of the night.

 

“It is, Roger.”

 

Roger didn’t move an inch, he also wanted Rafa to see him clearly.

 

“No, Rafa. You are incredible… I know Toni has drilled into your head that you’re not that amazing, but you are.”

 

Rafa smiled sweetly and gave him a quick peck on the lips.

 

“I think I better competitor than player, you know?”

 

Roger smiled.

 

“You need to compete in order to win” Rafa nodded. “To be honest… when I became Number One… those first years until you came along… They were… great, really great. When you appeared and… I realized I had a rival… I didn’t know how to feel. I knew, deep inside, that it was normal. I also knew that I was luckier than most, because I had had a long dominance… but I resented you… a bit. I was working really hard to keep my distance with all the other players… But that effort that was enough to keep everyone else at bay, wasn’t enough to keep you away…”

 

Rafa nodded slowly. Roger’s eyes had grown accustomed to the darkness and he could see him quite clearly. Rafa wasn’t upset or surprised by his words, he was understanding.

 

“Roger, you know this, my goal was always to catch you up and get more and more close to you… So, of course, it not work. I compete very hard, I compete very hard to get to be next to you.”

 

Roger’s heart stopped for a second time that night. And, like the time before, Roger felt it start beating again. Stronger, happier, calmer than it has a few seconds ago.

 

“I don’t think I deserve the luck I got that night a year ago in the balcony.”

 

Rafa smiled.

 

“We both so lucky.”

 

***

 

Beijing was Roger’s third Olympics, and for the third time he was denied.

 

And he couldn’t blame it on anyone but himself. He let the pressure get to him. And not only this time, every time.

 

In 2000, when he was a rookie no one expected anything from, he went all the way to the semi-finals. Was his game that good? Not really. But he was young and impressionable, and he was living the ultimate athlete’s dream: he was an Olympian. That was why he did well. Because every time he stepped on court in Sydney, he was just determined to take it all in and have fun. Fun and excitement got him very far. Not all the way far, but close enough for him to almost taste it and, of course, completely crave it.

 

So he worked hard and in 2003 he became the ‘Fed Express’, the ‘Swiss Maestro’. And when a year later Athens rolled around, there wasn’t a doubt on anyone’s mind that Roger was going to take the gold. Yeah, right. The only thing he took was a nice beating from Tomáš Berdych.

 

And now, in Beijing, four years later, someone inconsequential had managed to take him out, once again. Him…. one of the favourites. ‘One of’ being the key words. The other, of course, the Spanish Bull, the King of Clay, Rafael Nadal.

 

Of course he was. And Roger had to take himself back to the hotel room in London and remember the talk they had.

 

But it was hard. He felt his defeat to Blake. It had stung bad. So much so that, for a second, he had actually contemplated the idea of flying home for a few days and returning for the closing ceremony, or even skipping that altogether. The next second, though, he remembered he still had to play doubles with Stan. So he would have to endure the Singles competition, whether he wanted to or not.

 

He was looking forward to that, but then, his brilliantly smart mother had said this:

 

“Well, darling, this is an incredible opportunity, don’t you think?”

 

“An opportunity for what?”

 

She had smiled sweetly at him.

 

“To fully support your partner, of course. You are always competing against one another… I can’t even imagine how you two manage… But now, you can support Rafa. Or is there someone else you’d rather won gold?”

 

Roger had to pause for a minute because he really hadn’t thought that far ahead. Selfish as it may sound, he had come to Beijing with one thought: to get the gold he so badly missed in Athens. He may have entertained the notion of Rafa getting silver, and them having another epic Fedal showdown in the final. Now, that would not come to be. Nor the gold, nor the showdown, but Rafa’s silver could happen. Or even better, Rafa’s gold.

 

He smiled.

 

“You’re right. I can support Rafa. If I’m not getting a medal, he better get it. We are not going home empty-handed.”

 

Her mom’s giggles filled his heart.

 

So, that night, he snuck into the Spanish section in the Olympic village. And knocked on a very particular door.

 

Rafa was in a comfortable t-shirt and quite short shorts. His hair was ruffled and his eyes were sleepy.

 

“Rogi?”

 

Roger went into the room and closed the door behind him. He took Rafa in his arms. Rafa moulded perfectly to him and put his strong hands around Roger’s neck and buried his face against his neck, like always did.

 

“I’m so sorry you lose, Roger. I’m very sad.”

 

Roger squeezed him harder.

 

“It’s okay.” Rafa made a noise. “Well, it’s not. But it’s just a loss. I have to have some, even if I’m Roger Federer.”

 

Rafa sneered against his skin, giving Roger goose bumps. Nice ones.

 

“But I’m sorry for you, Rafa. Because now it’s all on you.”

 

Rafa turned to look at him, questions in his eyes.

 

“What you mean?”

 

“Well, we are the best in the world, we have to go home with a medal. I’m out so you have to get it.”

 

Rafa held his breath. “We?”

 

Roger stroked his tanned cheeks. “We.”

 

Rafa nodded.

 

“Okay, Roger. We get medal.”

 

Roger winked.

 

“We get a gold medal.”

 

Rafa laughed.

 

“I try.”

 

And he did.

 

And Roger, because lo and behold, he was still Roger Federer, got the other gold medal. So they both stood on top of the podium, they both heard their anthems play and their flags raise… And, of course, they both got to wear their gold medals and nothing else for the celebratory sex that followed.

 

Overall, when it came to the Olympics, turned out, third time was really a charm.

 

***

 

And then it happened.

 

It had to happen.

 

Realistically he knew it had to happen. It would happen eventually, he had always told himself. But… a part of him had held onto the believe that maybe not. Maybe it wouldn’t happen. Maybe he would keep it. A day more. A week more. A year more.

 

But… it had happened.

 

For the first time in two hundred and thirty-seven weeks, or for the first time in four years and seven months, Roger Federer was no longer World Number One. He was World Number Two.

 

Who was number one?

 

His boyfriend. Who else?

 

But Roger could only laugh.

 

In 2008, Rafa had won the Olympic Gold, and two Grand Slams, and he had also made the semi-finals in the other two. Easy, peasy, right? And, if that wasn’t enough, he had also won three Masters 1000, three 250, and made another four finals and semis. And, somehow, he also found time and energy to lead Spain to a Davis Cup win. All of this while his family was in shambles and his father was a major fucking asshole to him.

 

It was frankly ridiculous.

 

If someone accomplished all of that under those circumstances, the least that person deserved was the title of World Number One. Roger would had given him Galaxy Number One. Or maybe Universe Number One.

 

2008 was the year Roger lost his ranking, but it was also the year that Roger finally understood, in his heart, that his lover’s triumphs would always go hand in hand with his own disappointments, and the other way around. And that would not change, because Rafa and him had the same aspirations for their tennis careers.

 

But, luckily, that wasn’t all they had. They also had goals and dreams.

 

_“I dream we play all the finals, all the years, all the Slams.”_

 

Rafa had said that. And they had played four finals in that one year, it wasn’t all the Slams, it was half of them, which was still pretty impressive, so Roger would take it.

 

He didn’t like losing, but there was nobody else he’d rather fight with.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... >.< what do you think?


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